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#and she had god and faith signs in her office
lovelytsunoda · 11 months
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november rain // lance stroll
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when I look into your eyes, i can see a love restrained but darlin' when I hold you, don't you know I feel the same? (..) if we could take the time to lay it on the line, i could rest my head just knowin' that you were mine, all mine so if you want to love me then darlin' don't refrain, or I'll just end up walkin' in the cold november rain
summary: after four long years and one pandemic cancellation, it's finally time for y/n and lance to return home to mount tremblant and tie the knot.
pairing: lance stroll x newlywed! reader
warnings: co*kwarming, so much implied smut and sexual innuendo and i'm not sorry, weddings, they are so painfully in love it is sickening. a dad who doesn't quite get the jewish traditions but is doing his best. also i googled a lot of the jewish wedding traditions so im not sure they're 100% completely accurate tbh
inspo: wedding dress, lance's suit, welcome sign, the arch, getaway car
ten months to the wedding.
it was a calm, quiet afternoon in the ranch house. lance was asleep, desperate for a nap after his afternoon cardio session with his trainers, and y/n was in her home office, laptop out in front of her as her manicured fingers dragged tabs around the homescreen, a pinterest board full of white dresses open on her phone. the couple's two year old golden retriever was sitting under the desk, resting his head against her lap.
"you're going to be the best ring bearer, aren't you, boy?" she giggled to herself, carding her fingers through whistler's fur as she looked back at the wedding blog open on her screen. whistler licked her fingertips, almost as if the dog was agreeing with her.
15 jewish wedding traditions you should know about.
"hey, baby." lance spoke softly, rubbing sleep out of his eyes as he ambled into the office, hair messy and shirt wrinkled from his nap. "what are you up to?"
"just some wedding stuff." she replied, getting up from her desk chair to wrap her arms around her lover, whistler padding along beside her as lance reached down to scratch the dog behind the ears.
"are you looking up jewish weddings?" lance asked, lips against the crown of her head. "baby, you don't have to go out of your way for me."
"i want to, lance. this is your ceremony too, and it means something to me that you feel as if your faith is being represented here as well. as long as i get to wear my white dress and pick the song i walk down the aisle to, i'm not picky about anything else."
"as long as you're happy." lance smiled, leaning down to kiss her, fingers lacing with hers as their lips danced gently together. "have you picked a song yet."
y/n groaned, tipping her head back. "you're going to laugh at me."
lance laughed. "no, i'm not! just tell me, darling."
"well, i wanted to walk down the aisle to 'november rain'. it just has a lot of special meaning for me. it's one of the songs that made me believe in love." she admitted, meeting lance's eyes.
"if november rain is what you want, that's what we'll play. have you picked a dress?"
y/n grinned, nuzzling further into lance's chest. "a few contenders have emerged. but it's bad luck to see the dress before the wedding!"
laughing, lance swept y/n off her feet, carrying her towards the bedroom with whistler at his heels. "come on, you really don't believe in that."
"so what if i do?" she smiled, cradling his face with the hand sporting her stunning diamond ring as she placed her on the king sized bed.
"then i guess i'm just going to have to keep fantasizing about that tight white fabric, hugging all the right places." lance teased, his lips grazing the skin on her neck.
"you do that, loverboy. because you don't get to see my dress until i'm coming down that aisle."
"and then i get to take it off you, right?" lance smirked, kissing her on the forehead. "because god, i have had thoughts about what we're going to do that night."
the bed dipped next to them, whistler's wet nose nudging at y/n's nose as she burst out into giggles, lance groaning as he flopped down on the bed, carding his fingers through whistler's fur.
"whistler, my guy, you don't need to be such a cockblock." lance laughed, patting the dog's side.
"baby, this is what you signed up for when we adopted him. you've had two years to get used to this." y/n giggled in turn, gently shooing the dog off of her bed.
"whistler, c'mere buddy." lance clapped his hands and signaled for the dog, lumbering clumsily off the bed. "i just want twenty minutes of alone time, buddy. go play with your raccoon toy."
he continued to attempt to bride the dog as he guided whistler out of the room, gently closing the door as the golden retriever left with his stuffed toy.
"twenty minutes, huh?" y/n joked, taking off her shirt. "you really think you're that good?"
"baby, please. you know that i can have you screaming my name in ten." lance's voice was husky as he leaned over her, pressing her body back against the pillows.
he kissed her deeply, running his tongue along the seam of her mouth as she moaned into his touch, bucking her hips up into his, feeling his erection grow inside his jeans.
"i love you." he said softly, his hands caressing her bare sides. "i can't wait to get married."
five months before the wedding.
"ladies, i think i've found the dress!" y/n giggled, pushing through the dressing room curtains and performing a little spin, the white satin fabric swirling around her bare legs. "this is the one."
"babes, you look stunning!" christa, her high school best friend and maid of honor cheered, raising her champagne glass. christa and her boyfriend bruce had gotten married during the pandemic, much to the disapproval of her greek family, who were expecting a large, flamboyant wedding.
as the wedding seemed to approach faster and faster, y/n and lance had both decided to go shopping for big day outfits on the same day. y/n, however, was pretty sure that lance only came up with that plan because he wanted to sneak a peak at his bride before the big day (and to grab more material of the love of his life for his spank bank while he was at it).
the dress would need a few alterations, currently pinned to her body with wooden clothespins, but when she looked at herself in the mirror, cream fabric hugging her body, the large slit up the side of the dress, she knew that this was the dress she was going to get married in.
"bestie, your phone is ringing." helena, her college roommate, shouted from the sitting room where they had all left their bags. "i think it's loverboy!"
y/n laughed, extending her hand. "bring the phone here, hell."
lancey💍would like to facetime.
chuckling to herself, y/n flicked to a regular phone call and ducked back into the changeroom. outside, helena and christa exchanged looks.
"were you trying to steal a look at me in my dress?" y/n laughed, sitting down on the fitting room's ottoman. "baby, i thought you were smarter than that."
"i hoped you wouldn't realize it was a facetime call at first. not even a peek?" lance asked hopefully.
"not a chance. i think i've found the one, though. it's cream coloured, and tight fitting, contoured to all the best spots." she said with a smile, knowing that lance would be working himself up on the other end of the line. "off the shoulder with a big slit going up the leg."
lance exhaled, and she could just picture the blush rising in his cheeks. "and i don't even get a look with a visual like that? come on now baby, that's just cruel."
"how goes the suit shopping."
"so, it turns out that pastels are on trend this year and i don't know how i feel about that. i had mick take some pictures for me, i'm sending them through now. unlike you, i actually want my spouse's opinion." lance said teasingly. "i'm leaning towards the mint green, team spirit and all, but let me know what you think."
her phone buzzed in her hand, seven pictures taken by mick schumacher sliding into her inbox. she smiled to herself as she flicked through, looking at her fiancé's dorky poses and looks of pure disgust at the mustard yellow suit esteban had insisted he try on.
"you're right, go with the mint green. it goes with the theme, too."
she could practically hear the smile on lance's face as he responded. "i thought you'd say that. right, if we've both got things picked out, i take it you'll be home soon?"
"an hour, maybe an hour and a half. i still have to buy the wedding lingerie as well, you know."
"oh, baby, don't say that when i'm out with my friends." lance groaned. "now i'm hard in a suit that's not mine."
y/n couldn't stop herself from laughing at that one as she took a sip of the champagne. "that's your own fault. so i take it you don't want me to ask what kind of lingerie you want me to buy?"
"something white, lacy and expensive. my dad is paying for half of the wedding, so money is no issue, babes. really, i want you to treat yourself. i know the wedding has been stressing you out lately."
"you try planning the happiest day of your life." y/n chuckled. "i can't wait to get home, if i'm being honest. as great as looking for dresses has been, this morning has been exhausting."
"i'll run a warm bath for you, order takeout from that place on main that you like. i think i know just how to ease those nerves of yours." lance suggested, a seductive tone in his voice that had y/n biting her lip.
"that plan wouldn't happen to involve cotton sheets and bath and body works lotion, would it?" she teased, knowing that every long, erotic night with her fiancé usually started with a massage and ended with a few orgasms.
"uh, yeah, of course it does. how else am i going to get rid of this little problem? seriously, babe, i am out in public."
"what are you going to do about it, big boy? spank me?" she joked, having fun imagining just how red her lover probably was right now.
"i haven't made up my mind yet, pretty girl." lance teased. "maybe i will, maybe i won't. you'll just have to wait and see, yeah?"
"i look forward to it. i've gotta go if i want to be done shopping by dinner. i love you, lance."
"love you more, y/n. see you when you get home."
the night before the wedding.
it was just after midnight when y/n slipped out of her hotel room, forgoing shoes as her mismatched socks padded along the hotel carpet. helena and christa were fast asleep, and y/n found herself tossing and turning as her separation anxiety kicked in.
she counted room numbers in her head before she stopped and knocked gently on the door, hands in the back pockets of her jeans as she waited for the door to open.
“you just couldn’t stay away, could you?” lance stroll joked, opening the hotel room door. he was wearing nothing on his top half, his lower body covered in nothing but a pair of montreal canadiens flannel pants.
part of him had known that y/n would find her way back to him before the wedding started. she never had been great at being on her own.
“we both know im not as tough as I pretend to be.” she quipped back, wrapping her arms around her husband-to-be. “I missed you.”
lance smiled against her skin as he placed a gentle kiss on her neck. “come inside, pretty girl. let me run a bath. the bathroom window has a great view of the city.”
y/n closed the door behind her as the couple made their way to the large bathroom, lance filling the large jacuzzi tub with warm, bubbly water as his fiancée undressed. she slipped into the bath alongside her lover, humming in contentment at the feeling of lances body against hers.
“you couldn’t sleep either?” y/n asked, sighing into his arms as lance put his arms around her torso, gently kissing her cheek.
“nah, I was watching the game. its not the same trying to fall asleep without you.”
“now who’s the cheesy one?” she giggled, splashing her lover as he moved his hands, beginning to massage her shoulders softly. “I love you.”
“love you more.” lance hummed as he kissed the back of her head. “how’d you get out of your room anyways? I thought the bridal guard would have you on lockdown. for the sake of tradition, and all that shit.”
“theyre asleep. I snuck out, used pillows to make it look like i was still in my bed. how was the bachelor party?”
lance laughed, pulling his fiancée closer. “I dont know if you could call the hockey hall of fame and whalburgers a bachelor party, but I had a good time.”
“you got a weekend in toronto and all I got was pottery painting and mocktails?” y/n joked, her hand trailing up lances thigh. “im glad you had a good time. I did too.”
with her back pressed up against his chest, y/n dragged her hand further up his thigh and upwards towards his member, wrapping her nimble fingers around his shaft.
“baby, not right now." lance whispered, concern in his tone as he unwrapped his arms from the woman in front of him "what’s bothering you, pretty girl? you get needy like this when something is getting to you and you don't know how to say it out loud.”
she sighed, retracting her hand and linking her fingers with his. “i'm just nervous about tomorrow. scared, I think.”
lance's expression softened. he shifted in the tub, trying to turn y/ns body so that they were sitting across from each other, both her hands in his.
“its not too late to elope if you dont want to do this anymore, love. I can call chloe and she can drive us down to city hall. just the two of us, no stress, no fuss. I just want you to be happy, y/n.”
"no, lance. everybody is already here and i've been dreaming of this moment since i was thirteen. i want to do this. it just scares the shit out of me. it's like when i slept with you for the first time, you have to remember that."
lance laughed, using one damp hand to rake his hair back. "if anything, i was more nervous than you were. because i knew that if i fucked that up, i could have lost you for good. i swear, i would have given up on sex if you never felt comfortable enough with me to do it, i just knew i wanted you in my life."
"and now look at us." y/n hummed, kissing lance's knuckles. "i'm just scared that something is going to go really really wrong tomorrow."
"listen to me baby, here's what's going to happen. you are going to walk down that aisle tomorrow in your gorgeous dress with your parents on either side of you, and 'november rain' playing in the background, and i promise that i will be waiting for you at the altar. i'll also probably be crying from how stunning you look and how surreal this moment is, but i will be right next to you the entire time, okay?"
"promise me you aren't going anywhere?"
"i promise." lance said, leaning over to kiss her before stepping out of the tub and wrapping his well-built frame in a plush hotel towel. he extended a hand for his lover, lifting her out of the tub bridal-style. "now, you and me are going to curl up in bed, watch the last two episodes of 'the night agent', and not think about anything wedding related."
y/n smiled, feet firmly back on the ground before she raised her arms and allowed her fiancé to wrap the towel around her body. "i like that idea."
dried off and wrapped in a silk hotel bathrobe, y/n curled up underneath the comforter. she gently swept her hand across the bed spread to flick off the crumbs, frowning at lance as he redressed in his hockey flannels and joined her in bed.
"i leave you alone for one night and your bed is filled with crumbs?"
"sorry," lance shrugged, a small blush on his cheeks. "force of habit. can't watch the game without a bag of miss vickie's."
rolling her eyes, y/n reached for his laptop, waking up the dark screen before closing the tsn app and opening netflix.
"baby, your skin is freezing." lance remarked, pressing soft kisses to the skin on her shoulders. "look, you've got goosebumps. do you want me to turn down the air con?"
with a cheeky look on her face, y/n turned to look at him. "i can think of another, much more fun way to get warmer."
"oh, you want me to warm you up with my cock, is that it?" lance hummed, gently slipping a hand underneath the hem of the white robe. "baby, if you let me have my way with you tonight, you won't be able to walk down that aisle tomorrow."
"we don't have to do anything. i just want to feel you."
and how could lance say no when she asked with those eyes, with that voice? she hummed in content as he slipped inside her glistening folds, readjusting the blankets around their conjoined bodies as she pressed play on the next episode.
"i love you, lancelot." she hummed, turning her head to press a kiss to the tip of his nose. "i can't wait to spend the rest of my life with you."
"i love you too, y/n. now, get some rest, darling. if you fall asleep, i'll stop the episode so you don't miss anything, yeah?"
the wedding.
"ladies, i'm going to be real with you, i'm scared out of my mind." y/n laughed nervously, smoothing out the front of her dress while christa fussed with her hair.
christa and helena were not fools: they knew that y/n had snuck out of her hotel room to meet up with lance, but neither of them could fault her for that. christa knew firsthand that y/n had been so scared that she would never fall in love, never have her moment in a white dress, and she wasn't going to stop y/n from being with lance, even if it was just for a night.
that being said, nerves were high on the morning of the wedding, and y/n had to be talked down more than once so that she would be ready to walk down the aisle.
and now that moment was finally here. she walked out of the dressing room to meet with her parents, who would be walking down the aisle with her, as per jewish tradition. lance had gone down the aisle moments earlier with claire-ann and lawrence beside him.
"you're going to do just great, kiddo." y/n father said, pulling her in for a hug. "but remind me what i'm supposed to do once i get up there."
"you're going to stand across from lawrence, diagonally from claire-ann in place of the bridal party. all you have to is stand there, and once the rabbi has said 'you may kiss the bride', shout 'mazel tov' with everybody else."
mr. y/l/n nodded, gripping his daughter's hand. "i'm so proud of you, honey. you picked a good man, and i love that he makes you so so happy."
the bars to 'november rain' began to play, and y/n took a deep breath before she walked into the banquet hall with her parents. her hands were shaking, and she tried not to look around and notice how many people were in the room.
she would celebrate with them all later.
she tried not to think about anything as she stepped up the small wooden stairs (not many steps, just three) to the altar. lance stood underneath the arch of roses (they'd decided against the traditional jewish canopy, but would have their parents stand at the four corners in principle), looking dashing in his mint green suit. he was restless, messing with the white rose on his lapel before wiping at his eye.
"were you crying?" y/n giggled quietly, reaching for her husband's hand
"what, no." lance laughed. "there's gotta be some pollen in here or something."
"good, because if you cry, i'll cry."
weeks, even months later, if you had asked y/n what the rabbi had said during the ceremony, she probably wouldn't have been able to tell you, even though the entire thing had been videotaped for the happy couple. the entire world narrowed down to that altar, to her and lance.
the love of her life.
"i now pronounce you husband and wife."
"mazel tov!"
"too soon, dad!"
"sorry love, carry on!"
TAGS:
@starsanova @magnummagnussen @diorleclerc @sidcrosbyspuck @daydreamingleclerc @libraryofloveletters
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lxkeeeee · 11 months
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SEMPER FIDELIS - always loyal or always faithful.
husband! scaramouche x fem kitsune wife! reader
synopsis: scaramouche now has to leave for inazuma, unfortunately leaving his wife back in snezhnaya.
genre: slight angst.
warnings: this will be a continuation for the storyline.
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His purple eyes filled with so much love and adoration as he watched a woman diligently do her paperwork—that woman was his wife. Scaramouche leaned his body against the door frame, his arms crossed as he had a smirk on his face but with so much on his eyes. God, what had he done to deserve such a woman? He thought to himself, as his eyes now started to focus on her fox like ears that is currently stood erect, occasionally twitching in each noise. The sound of her fountain pen scribbling against a piece of paper and the sound of papers shuffling can be heard in their shared office.
He still can't believe he married her, if only past him could see him now—he would be dramatically horrified as past him was very opposed to the idea of marriage.
He could still recall that very precious day, the day that they accidentally tied to the knot of their love—but of course, they don't have a single regret to it.
They recently just realized and understood their feelings for each other—recently by I mean they've been dating for how many years already, when you're immortal, the concept of time doesn't matter. Although they've made it official since their dumbasses just realized but if they about it their feelings started decades ago. After the death of their last companion, both of them stopped relying on other people aside from the two of them. They traveled place to place, not staying for too long in one area, Scaramouche destroyed his previous identity which was Kunikuzushi and so did [y/n] who decided to forget what her birth name was due to the amount of painful memories clinging to it.
Speaking of Inazuma, her majesty the Tsaritsa has issued an order to obtain the gnosis and this time he has to leave his wife back in snezhnaya. He cleared his throat to catch her attention, she immediately looked up to look at him, her eyebrow raised in confusion. “Is there something wrong, my love?” she asked, concern in her voice, her eyes remained on him yet her hands kept moving to sign the papers, already memorized the places where she needed to sign. That's my wife, Scaramouche thought to himself with a proud smile which made the woman looked at him in concern.
“You're grinning for no apparent reason, should I be concerned?” she asked, a playful tone in her voice. He chuckled as he shakes his head, “It's nothing, but I do need to tell you something.” He says, voice started playful before becoming stern, [y/n] looked at him with a slight concern, “What is it my love?” she softly asked and archons it's getting harder to tell her the news. He took a deep breath and she just looked at him with curious expression, “I have a new mission.”
“Where?”
“Inazuma.” he answers, slightly wincing to see how his wife flinched a little, she chuckled a bit, “Should I pack my clothes for the mission?” she asked, already mutterings the things she needed to bring and suddenly there's a painful ache on his chest as he shook his head. “This time you're not joining me, [y/n].” he says sternly with a hint of worry, [y/n]'s eyes widen as she dropped her pen into the table, flinching at the lack of endearment for her.
Silence. Utter silence.
He wants her to join him, he really do but he'd rather not see the pain present on her face if she ever recalls the painful memories they've experienced in Inazuma, his indigo eyes looked at her shaking hands and unaware of his hands shaking too. This would be the first time they wouldn't be together on a mission.
“Are you sure...?” She asked and oh how scaramouche wants to run to her and caress her cheek and tell her she could come but unfortunately, orders are orders.
“As much as I would like you to join my love, it's her majesty's orders. I'm just gonna assist Signora on the plan to kill the Traveler.” He says truthfully, hand placed over his chest.
She sighs, her face solemn, fox ears lower than usual but she just gave him a small forced smile before engulfing the man into a hug, placing her chin on his shoulder, inhaling his scent. Scaramouche just sighs as placed his hands on her waist and pulled her as close as he can.
“As you wish, I would wait for your return my love.” she says as she cupped his cheeks, “In the meantime, I'll train our soldiers.” she says, voice stern and Scaramouche smirked, “That's my girl.”
[Y/n] watched as the Fatui soldiers finished loading up the luggages of Signora and Scaramouche into the carriage, the snow crunched in each step.
Scaramouche approached her, a huge fur coat covering his body and she's wearing one too to fight the cold of Snezhnaya.
Thankfully the scarf covered the small smile on his face as he watched her immediately intertwined their hands together.
“Promise me to come home okay? I swear to Celestia if you get swayed by the gnosis.” she says, voice teasing, yet he can hear the sadness in her voice already which is starting to make it hard for him to leave, he caressed her cheek with his hands.
“I promise, I have a wife waiting for me after all.”
[Y/n] watched as they carriage slowly disappeared into the distance, unknown that that would be the last time she'll see him as he would be called a traitor to the Fatui.
⊰᯽⊱┈───── ✧ ─────┈⊰᯽⊱
A/n: this is a trial run lmfao. Go check out my fic DAYLIGHT if you want the whole things;)
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marilynthornhilllover · 2 months
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When you call my name. do you think I'll come running? { chapter 7}
+ If i only could I'd make a deal with God I'd get him to swap our places.
Alcina dimitrescu x fem!Reader
Warning: pre-grief, depression, slight sadness, extreme rage, LOTS of angst, extreme plot twist, talk of suicide, slight fluff. { read chapter 6 here }
A/n: I just wanted to start off by saying thank you to the people who showed utmost appreciation to this series and interest of it continuing! I never actually thought this series would hit it off! And it warms my heart to know so many of you are interested and it has captured the attention of your heart! Sorry for the long wait in chapter update! I know it's been almost five months since i last posted CH. 6 and I sincerely apologize! :). This is a bit lengthy so I had to split it into two parts so, chapter 8 will be a bit short!! Love you guys enjoy!!.
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Today no one spoke..... no one moved.... no one even dared to blink or breathe too hard. If you were ever to be caught dead in the sight of Lady Dimitrescu who knows what she might do to you..... Perhaps Rip you in half?, shred you to pieces?, pull your throat out?..... well no one wanted to be a human experiment, therefore everyone kept their distance away from the lady and her personal space. Her rage is not one to be tested and neither is her faith. She's like a lion, sly in the shadows but dangerous in light, she couldn't be trusted then and certainly not now. Ever since you left she's been acting as a fish out of water.
She never left her office or the castle itself and when she did, no one could be able to point out her emotions. She'd always dress in her usual formal black dresses and Veil hats that covered three quarters of her face. Her elegant walk and perfectly fitted gloves, only God knew what monster hid behind the poker face of 'Countess Dimitrescu' .
The entire castle was silent - completely silent. You could hear a pin drop. Make noise and your dead, make one slip up and show weakness or incompetence and your also dead, no one wanted to be alive in the same place where " Countess Alcina Dimitrescu " also lived. The villagers who'd usually bring fresh food and fruits to the castle heard of the matter and started delivering their pastries at the back door, too terrified of the wrath she held for anyone who may know what she's going through or even the smallest detail of your whereabouts.
It was a mad house at castle dimitrescu, maids started whispering rumors and stories of how the lady was going completely mad and turning into some sort of witch or dragon - if that's even possible, at night. Some say she flys over the village howling and puffing looking for her.... lost one.... but that's not true..... right?.....
It was 10:05 am, the lady drinks tea at 10:00 am, the lady's tea is five minutes late.... why because the poor little tiny girl who's job is to bring the raven hair goddess tea is scared out of her mind to so much as to stand infront of her door, she's done this a million times, so what's holding her back now? Maybe the fact that no one knows where her fate might lie after the woman opens the door, perhaps only mother miranda will know.... but she's a topic for another time.....
The girl took slow strides walking up to the lady's door as the tray that laid in her hand containing the lady's tea shook vigorously as a result of her nervous system failing her, cold sweat dripped from her forehead as her lips quivered and shook.
One
Two
Three
Knock, knock
Her shaking palms returned to her side as she sighed a breath of pure fright. For two long , minutes there was complete silence, no movement, no breathing, no sign of other recreations, nothing, absolutely nothing. And just as she was about to leave, hoping the lady thought her ears deceived her, there were loud thudding foot steps. No exaggeration used, the tall woman's footsteps were loud and massive. They spoke of frustration and pure rage. The young girl then again started struggling to breathe.
As the footsteps got louder and closer she managed to bow her head just in time when the lady opened the door. Suddenly the girl was taken back when an impossibly human surviving air hit her skin. The air was cold and thick, she could easily tell that the lady in fact hadn't left her room in a while and there was no ventilation happening in there. It felt as if someone had truly died, as if all life was lost, and the world had truly ended and all love was forgotten.
" yes, what is it, can't you see I'm busy?!" her voice was cold, brutal and hoarse, it showed no sign of life, love or even integrity , instead she sounded bitter and cold as, if she was the first person to ever be born on earth and everyone else were just a burden or her just her unwanted ornaments.
" f- forgive m- me my lady i-if I'm wrong but- you have wine with your b- breakfast, and tea in t- the mid afternoon, m- my lady" she wasn't wrong... in fact she's one hundred percent correct, but when your life is at stake you try to minimize your talking and smart mouthing - simply being correct. Again there was a long pause of utter silence. The girl couldn't even hear the lady breathe above her , it was as if she wasn't there at all, if she wasn't quite literally staring at her heels she would have believed she had returned inside.
Besides from that she couldn't even hear herself breathe, she minimized her heart beat and lungs respiration so low that it felt as if she was dying, her chest started to burn, it was as if she wasn't breathing at all. The girl heard a sigh of frustration before a loud slam of the door infront of her.
Well.... it's better than having your throat ripped out and being made into fine Romanian wine then being sold to the market.
Alcina sniffed walking back towards her desk. she held onto the rim of it for emotional support. She bit her lip as it quivered, while fighting back tears. Your voice rang through her mind, you were like a ghost, invisible with high amount of impact but held powerful memories. Alcina couldn't function or focus the way she should be. You were the only thing she thought about, the only person she ever truly loved or cared about besides her daughters. And to have you pulled out of her life by the hands of the person she hated so greatly made her feel as an failure even more.
It ate away at her heart to know that if you had died - as miranda said you did, that means that you spent the last few minutes of your life probably cold and afraid, thinking that it was her fault. But regardless, what ate her up the most was the fact that you died with holding her hand, without her being by your side until you took your last breathe. It wasn't fair, and it was her fault. It is her fault. After all she is a monster.
' Monster '
' Your a monster '
' No one loves you '
' Your the reason she's d- '
" SHUT UP" alcina picked up her vanity and threw it across the room with great power, breaking it in half and slightly cracking the floor of her office. That's definitely gonna need fixing.... which means someone will have to visit the castle. She didn't want any guests or company, not because of the rumors, or the uneasiness you felt as soon as you stepped foot into the palace, no alcina was bigger than that, what she wasn't bigger than was herself.
Not her literally self, the one she saw when she looked into the mirror, the one she felt 24/7 weighing down her shoulders, the one she heard most of the time.....her entire life, the one she felt deeply inside waiting to be unleashed, to be able to set the world ablaze and get rid of all human beings. The one she was called...... a monster..... this part of her..... this was the part she wasn't bigger than.
No matter how much she tried, no matter how much she fought..... it ate her up inside..... her inner soul was bruised, scared, busted, call it what you want, but the truth was she fought to keep the outside going strong and tall. While the fire was running low she fought to keep herself elegant and up right. Good Posture, perfect teeth, phenomenal business, respected name. All of it was just a show that people got to tell. What people failed to realize was that although Alcina may be dead on the inside..... she's still human.....
She still loved... she's still cared, for God's sake. This was the part of her she just couldn't get rid of. The weight of it all soon caught up to her and it and not light at all.
She missed you.... so so much, beyond explanation.... beyond belief.... she loved you, every part, your smile, your hair, the way you'd do a little nose scrunch when she tackled you onto the bed, your laugher, your dramatic side eyes when she said something that didn't quite suit your style. She cared for you.... so damn much too. Cared if you ate, if you slept, if you were happy.... and now you were gone.... erased from her memories, from her life.
She longed for you....
You stired as you slowly opened your eyes to see daylight. You blinked rapidly trying to clear your eyes and refocus your vision. After a while of low steady breathing you were finally able to open your eyes completely and take hold of your surroundings. The room was small, it reminded you of the vintage times. It was raged with cigarette smoke and burning medicine plants - too much burning medicine plants. The room wasn't clean but it also wasn't the tidest.
There was a small bed on which you laid on and another which was empty, there was another room connected to the room that you were in that had a beaded curtain handing before the entrance. From the view that you were sitting you could see an old woman slowly moving her hips side to side as she hummed softly to a playing jazz music that your ears couldn't yet pick up. You coughed as you tried to get up slowly, you instantly felt excruciating pain all over your body.
You fell back sobbing as your hands felt utterly weak. You heard small foot steps before seeing a familiar face. It was Carmen. Your mom's old yoga and herb cooking buddy. A small warm smile was plasted on her face as she sat on the stool infront of you.
" Easy now child, you don't want to make this wound worst" she spoke, her voice cracky and faint. She was dressed in a light pink night gown and a soft brown head band with her hair braided in a fish braid. She gently dipped a wash cloth in a bowl of green like liquid before gently pressing it to your wound that was located on your hip. You whimpered softly at the slight stinking sensation before it disappeared as quickly as it appeared. After multiple wips of her cleaning the wound she placed a badge on it.
" thank you carmen" you mumbled, your voice also being raspy from using for the fisrt time since God knows when. The elder woman smile before waving you off with her hand. She got up and and went back into the kitchen.
" how did I end up here?" You asked her before standing since you felt a bit more better now. You heard her chuckle before hearing some pans clack together.
" I found you laying in the forest the other day when I went out to pick berries, you were all cut up and bruised, could have swore you were a zombie or perhaps even a lycan" she laughed before emerging from the kitchen and into another room. You Curiously followed her just to find four small but widthful shelves of books.
She bent down groaning slightly before taking out some books and dusting them off and replacing them, continuing the step for others.
" I hoped you'd wake up soon, when I found you, you had only a faint pulse that lasted every twelve seconds, you were basically half dead. Anyway I need to go to the market, i'm sure you can fend for yourself, you did just fine, God knows how you ended up 36 miles out into the woods" you froze..... did she just say 36 miles..... into the woods....
" am I in south Romanian?!" You asked a bit too loudly. Carmen looked up at you with raised eyebrows.
" yes.... did you forget you and your mother use to hop the river to come visit me for my birthday? Silly girl, yes south Romanian, mother Miranda's old village, the one she used to rule over? Yes my dear" she moved towards the other selve and began packing.
" Carmen! Do you heard how crazy this sounds?! I live in north Romania, you know... where castle dimitrescu is?! " again your voice was on the raise and she didn't quite like it, but you didn't really care either. She sighed before getting up, she facial expression and body language completely changed into a colder one.
" have a seat child" you compiled before she sat infront if you with a very serious expression. She sighed before placing her hands down onto your thighs.
" your mother died y/n...." your eyes zoned and you swore you could hear your eyes ring as you heard your heart beat slow down. Carmen squeezed your thighs before continuing.
" it's a hard pill to swallow but you better do, my condolences my daughter" she said doing the sign of the cross. Your mother meant alot to you, she wasn't really a huge part of your life, you didn't even remember much of her. You remember being kidnapped from your house one night by mother miranda and seeing the terror on her face before you passed out, and seeing her in a dream once. You've lived in an orphanage for your entire life and that night was the first time that you got back your life to her.
That didn't meant you wouldn't miss her.... you just couldn't find a reason to miss her.... you barely even knew her to begin with.....
" you know that lady people said your in love with?.... you know.... tall, big vampire mommy lady with wings" you gaved her a sarcastic fake laugh before looking at her dead serious. She smirked before continuing.
" there was a rumor that she killed your mother....." you tilted your head to the right, trying to comprehend the information you just received. You shook your head before nervously laughing.
" No that's not true.... it was probably miranda but people are to scared to say that so they blame alcina, they always do that, trust me, miranda was the last person my mom saw so-" Carmen cut you off by shaking her head and tsking.
" No child..... your mother was killed six months ago... and if I'm not mistaken you were kidnapped and forced to work for this ' Alcina' almost two years ago.... look they said it was big boobs vampire lady, bird lady and some lady who's obsessed with carrying her doll everywhere" you were significantly frozened between reality and what carmen was telling you now - which would obviously be a lie.
No one is saying carmen is a lier but sometimes elderly people loss their minds as time goes by - especially is they love to gossip..... anway.... your mom is dead and you felt nothing, you don't even think you miss alcina, now that your away you feel.... nothing..... you don't miss her, part of you don't even seem to care if she's doing ok, it's as if you never loved her.... maybe your body is still in shook, carmen did say that you had been out for two days straight, maybe your sleep dprived and can't think straight or maybe........ no let's not go there.
Carmen could clearly see that you didn't believe her, getting her she sighed as she began to grab her belongs, shoes, shopping bags, bud spray and pepper spray.
" look child believe what you want, don't go cra cra over your mom too much, wishing on things that just weren't possible, i'm off, when I'm back maybe we can make cinnamon rolls and some soup to get you better" she smiled softly at you before leaving a small peck on your forehead then leaving. You decide that your going back to castle dimitrescu, you needed answers...... you demanded them..... and even if it's the last human thing that alcina is capable of doing she will give them to you.
You could feel it in your heart that you were drifting away from alcina..... that spark that you once felt.... that burning passion.... that burning love.... gone....
You didn't have any belongs at Carmen's but you walked with some of her stuff, like water, little protein bars, bud spray and a knife. You left her a note thanking her for her utmost compassion and kindness upon you before starting your very very long journey....
TAG LIST : @willalovexx @ilovehugslikealotalot @milkiedimitrescu @willowshadenox @enchantressb @moisblofish, @nclgsticore @vampire-s61914 @snkskyler15 @milkkyshakeez @luisa323 . If you wish to be apart of the tag list for the next up coming chapters please comment below :) <3
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little-diable · 1 year
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The Rosary - Priest!Tom Riddle (smut)
It's been a while since my last priest imagine - what a shame. Please reblog and like if you enjoyed reading this, and don't forget: don't like it, don't read it. Enjoy my loves. xxx
Summary: Priest Riddle takes the reader's confession, and yet he does it quite differently than all other priests. Pwp.
Warnings: 18+, oral (m), wrong use of a rosary, religious connotations, unprotected sex, power play, spanking, spitting
Pairing: Priest!Tom Riddle x fem!reader (1.4k words)
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“Lower.” His voice echoed through the church, gaze focused on her frame. She jumped, not expecting to hear his voice breaking through the calm afternoon air like a shot fired in the depth of the night. Slowly she turned towards the priest, eyes struggling to meet his darkening ones. 
He was sitting on one of the wooden benches, hands holding onto the rosary he had been praying for the past minutes. The priest stared at her with a gaze so threatening (y/n) felt her knees trembling, about to give out, forcing her to her knees like a sinner begging for forgiveness. 
“You need to bow lower if you want his guidance.” His voice carried something she couldn’t decipher, as if he was teasing her, making fun of the woman that clearly didn’t know how to speak to the One listening from above. 
“I’m sorry.” It was nothing more than a whisper, clearly projecting the uncertainty thumping through her veins like the sins she had been carrying around with herself, weighing her down. Her eyes wandered back to the wooden cross hung above the altar, staring down on her, well aware of every sin she had committed. 
“Come, sit.” Priest Riddle’s voice guided her towards him, forcing (y/n) to sit down next to the tall priest. Silent prayers rolled off his tongue as he got back to praying the rosary, eyes shut, lips slightly parted – allowing (y/n) to study the handsome man. She had always found herself drawn to him, urged on by the forbiddenness of the situation. 
Her gaze wandered down to his slender fingers, watching him roll the pearls, a routine he clearly knew by heart as if he was breathing in the vowels of the prayer, keeping him alive. She was sitting close to him, could easily touch the priest’s thighs with hers, and yet (y/n) didn’t dare move, unsure how the man would react. There was something between them, something keeping her alive like a fire needing wood to crackle on. 
“And may the souls of the faithful depart, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen.” His voice echoed through the church, filling her with excitement as he opened his eyes once again, finding (y/n) already looking at him. He made the sign of the cross before he let the rosary disappear in his pocket, rising from the wooden bench. “Follow me.”
Wordlessly they walked down the aisle, past the altar and down the hallway to his office. He let her step inside first, allowing her to be swallowed whole by the darkness lingering inside the room. She couldn’t move, felt herself frozen to the spot, pushed forward by his rather ungentle touch. (Y/n) stumbled further into the room, caught by his hand shooting out to grasp her wrist, catching her before she’d lose her balance.
“Tell me, are you here to confess?” His breath teased her neck, words leaving her trembling as an all too quiet “Yes” rolled off her tongue, spoken out into the darkness. He had taken her confession numerous times before, she knew the routine, just like he did, and yet there was something awfully thrilling about this, very well aware of his rather unchristian way of taking her confession. 
“Onto your knees then, child.” She dropped to the ground, kneeling in front of the man that towered over her like the Tower of Babel had towered over those building it with their bare hands. He moved away from (y/n) to alight his desk lamp, offering some light that could guide the two of them through the upcoming moments, a guidance like the comet on the dark firmament, betokening the birth of the saviour. 
“Open your mouth.” Wordlessly she parted her lips, staring up at the man who spit onto her tongue, forcing her to swallow every drop of his saliva. She was his, belonging to the priest with a twisted mind and a rotten heart. Skilled hands undid his trousers, freeing his hardening cock for (y/n) to wrap her lips around the tip.
Their eyes kept holding contact as he jerked his hips, forcing his cock further down her throat, making her choke around him. He fucked her mouth with no mercy lingering in his system, a mercy he’d spare to the ones seeking his help – all but her were fortunate enough. 
Saliva dripped from her chin, one by one like the tears the ones watching Jesus die on the cross had cried, one with the soil they were now buried in. New life may grow from the cold soil, soil that was one with the silent whispers of death. 
“There we go, breathe.” His commands left her humming around his cock, drawing a moan from his parted lips. She felt him twitch in her mouth, very well aware of his rising high, a high that would pass like the parted waves of the red sea, not yet ready to roll upon them. He gave it a few more thrusts before he pushed (y/n) away, forcing her to her feet without another warning. 
She was pushed against his desk, front pressed further against the table top as he pushed her trousers and soaked through panties down her legs, not wanting to waste any time. (Y/n) had a hard time breathing as she felt him brush the tip of his cock through her dripping folds, teasing her for a moment or two before he spoke up once again. 
“Confess now or stay forever silent.” (Y/n) stumbled over her reply, struggling to properly pronounce her words as she confessed. He carefully listened to every word rumbling through her like the screams of those begging for forgiveness, one with the sins flooding through their veins like consecrated wine. Only as she stopped speaking, eyes fluttering close in shame did the priest start moving once again. 
Her eyes found his hand, holding onto the rosary, he moved his fingers to her mouth, forcing her lips apart with the metal cross. Wordlessly she bit down on it, holding it between her mouth as he got back to touching her, pushing into her before she could close her eyes. 
The priest fucked her hard, not holding back as he speared her on his cock. Whimpers, moans and cries clawed through (y/n), sounds dampened by the cross held between her teeth, not allowing her to properly part her lips. Her body trembled as if she was caught in the earthquake hitting the city of David, shaking through every limb. 
“We both know you’re sinning because of your insatiable need for my touch, a pathetic try to offer your body to me.” She was sacrificing herself for simple touches, and yet the situation was everything but simple. (Y/n) was caught in a web of lies, of passion, and of hunger, a hunger no man but the priest who was currently fucking her from behind could still. She was his, had lost all privileges, but she couldn’t pull away from him, not now, not ever. 
Their bodies met with every thrust, cock buried deep inside of her tightness, a feeling so addicting, (y/n) could barely breathe on. She struggled to find something she could use to hold onto, hands trembling as her neck gave in, forehead pressed against the table. She’d cum any moment now, walls fluttering around his twitching cock, even though (y/n) found herself praying that this moment may never end.
He followed her down the edge, leaving his stain on her behind as he pulled out, releasing himself with a groan leaving the priest. For a few seconds they stayed like this, catching their breaths, hoping to make it out of the fog of lust dampening their thoughts. The cross was pulled from her lips, back tugged against his front, and with his hand finding her throat, he whispered quietly, “You’re free of your sins. May the Lord guide you to heaven when your time comes around.”
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sebstan2020 · 11 days
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Red Ties
Chapter 34
Mary, a sweet Christian girl living in the city of Brooklyn as a nurse had a simple life. She loved her work, her friends and attending church every Sunday and helping Reverend McCarthy. Her life was nothing out of the ordinary. However, it all changed one day when she bumps into the intriguing and intimidating James Barnes, Brooklyn’s notorious mafia boss and is introduced to a world of guns, lust and dominance.
Warnings: BDSM, Dom/Sub, Mafia, Violence, Gang, SMUT, Sex, Possessive Bucky, Overprotectiveness, Bondage, Sexual Themes, Dark Themes, Guns, Drugs, Gang Violence
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James paced in the small church office, his phone pressed hard against his ear as he listened to the never-ending ringing. He was trying to get through to Mary, but at the third attempt at calling and getting no further than her voicemail box, he sighed heavily and dropped his phone. He had well and truly messed up this time. John was slumped in his desk chair, having just witnessed the look of terror on Mary's face and the realisation of who he was. 
"You need to go find her," James ordered John, who scowled up at him.
"Me, your the one who decided to bring the shipment here," he aruged, and James growled as he stormed over, towering over the reverend. 
"She'll listen to you; she won't answer my calls," he snapped, and John stood, almost meeting James's gaze. 
"Not now; she won't. She's trusted me her whole life, and now, after what she's seen today, she'll never want to speak or even come close to me. I told you not to fuck this up, James," he argued, and James groaned. John was right. He fucking hated it when he was right.
It was his idea to bring the guns over to the church, having thought that no one would be attending on a Friday afternoon, and with Steve on watch, it was the perfect opportunity to bring them in. John was going to store them in the back until the transaction between James and the small business requiring them had been completed. 
Everyone around John was the kindest reverend to the city of New York; his ears were always open for discussion and support. He was the heart and soul of this church, giving his time and money to it. A Christian at heart. However, like many other people in this city, he had a dark secret and a past, and frankly, he wasn't ashamed. Growing up in the mafia world, he never expected to become a reverend for the church. Guaratee, it was the perfect cover story—not that he was faking any ounce of his faith in God.
His family growing up was heavily religious, and his father took him to church every Sunday for service. It was at the mature age of twelve that his father revealed who they really were. A family of power and money, although the fasade they kept up made others think otherwise. At the age of sixteen, he witnessed his first murder in front of him. a sleezy guy with no remorse, and yet John himself felt nothing for him. 
He was destined to grow up in this world and become who his father was. But he didn't want to. not at first. he refused. said he didn't want to get involved in shit like that. His father only gave him a soft pat on the shoulder to relax him, which was inevitable. And from that point on, his life grew further and further into the dangerous world of violence, power, and dominance.
But he didn't want to look back on his faith. He didn't want to be a walking sin. He had spent too long praying to God, day and night, for his spot in heaven. It was as if an angel had come down to him one night and placed a pale hand on his shoulder, a sign that he should join him. He told his father of his plan to become a reverend and had expected him to laugh, throw a fit of anger, and scream and shout at his son. But he didn't. Instead, he nodded. 
"If that's what needs to be done, then so be it." If becoming a reverend was going to help him with this life he was leading up to, then he had his father's respect. He wasn't ashamed of the things he'd done in the past, and sometimes he wished he was, but God was here with him now, and the only person he would let judge him would be him. He could never escape this life, and there was no point sitting and moping and praying for forgiveness when he knew he'd never receive it. So he found a balance. His love for the church and the community, and his attention to the dangerous life built for him by his bloodline.
But there was one thing he never wanted, and that was for Mary to find out. His father and James's father knew each other well, and since both their passings, James and John have come to know each other. John was much older than James and almost treated him like a son. When James came to him that afternoon, a day after meeting the sweet girl, he warned him not to mention anything about knowing him. If Mary ever found out he was involved in the deep, dark world of organised crime, she'd never come to church again, and he prided himself on offering his services to those who needed them. He was a good friend to her family, close with her father and mother, and promised to look after her while she was here. 
and James had messed up. 
"Fuck, you're right," he hated admitting defeat, but for once he knew he had fucked up. Mary had stormed off, and she didn't even want to speak to him. All he wanted was a chance to explain. But what would he explain? How did he know John longer than she did? How did he decide to bring over a shipment of guns into the sacred church? John was involved in his crimes and had his own history of organised crime. It was a sticky situation, one that he wasn't going to get out of very easily. 
Sam and Steve were stadning silently against the wall, watching as James paced himself to madness around the office. The guns still needed to be unloaded and placed in the very back. The two of them looked at each other, giving them the same look as James furiosously typed in a number on his phone. 
"Ned, it's me. I need you to do me a favour; I need you to track a phone," he ordered, as Ned typed in the background. 
"What's the number?" He didn't ask for any details or explanations; it wasn't his place. As James gave out Mary's number, Steve and Sam gave each other another look, this time with wider eyes and a huff. They were in no position to argue with the boss right now, so they stayed silent. James wasn't going to let this go until he saw Mary, and with the city being so big, he'd never find her on foot. It was only a matter of seconds before Ned pinged over her location, and he rushed out of the office. 
"You two get those in the back now; I'll be back later," he glanced at John before storming down the asile, the voice of the reverend calling out behind him. 
"Don't fuck this up!" he yelled, and James didn't turn; he just headed on out. 
Mary sighed softly as she dragged herself across the sidewalk, hugging her cold arms as the sun went in, leaving the sky grey and cloudy. She had been walking for what felt like hours, and as she glanced around the city, she hadn't a clue where she ended up. Looking up at the street signs, she realised she was far from home and wished she had gotten in her car before storming off. But she was just so mad, so angry, that all she could do was walk away and not look back. 
Her feet were aching, and she was dehydrated. Coming to a stop, she looked up to see she had stopped in front of a dark bar, the door wide open with loud music blaring inside. She was desperate for a drink, so she stepped inside, cuddling herself further as she wandered into the darkness. She had never been in a bar before. Alcohol wasn't her thing. There were several wooden tables around the bar floor and a couple of booths at the back, along with bar stools at the front bar. 
It was dead inside, with only two people. One sat at the bar, a man who looked middle-aged with dark, short hair and slightly wrinkled eyes. The other was a lot older and sat in the corner with at least five empty glasses around him as he stared up at the small TV playing a football game. He was pissed but kept to himself. 
Mary padded up to the bar, slipping into one of the high seats, and placed her bag on top. Her phone buzzed, and she groaned as she saw it was James. He had called her three times now, but she didn't want to speak to him. She needed time. She slammed her phone down into her bag after hanging up on his call and ran her hands through her bushy hair. 
Recently, it felt like every time they took a step forward, they took two steps back. First his surprise confession that he was a mafia lord and a BDSM master, then his jealosuy and threat towards Peter, and now his connection to Reverend McCarthy. The last one seemed to top them all. She felt betrayed that the one man she trusted the most, having gone to him for years with her faith and problems, was a man like James. involved in crime and murder, and yet he was supposed to be a religious man, a man devoting his life to God. However, she now realises that things aren't always what they seem. A man says he's one thing when he's actually something else. 
The young barman came to her, leaning across with a kind smile. His arms were thick with tattoos, and he had a dazzling smile, dark hair, and a button shirt that was open at the collar. 
"What would you like, Miss?" he said kindly, and Mary sighed. 
"Just some juice, please," she answered sadly as she turned and looked over at the man not too far from her. He sipped on a small glass of brown liquid and a lime wedge, accompanied by ice and a stirrer. He sipped it well and looked over at her with a smile. Mary never drank alcohol, and yet something inside her was yelling at her to try it. Why the fuck not? After everything she's been through, she deserves to let loose and relax. 
"Actually, I'll have one of those," she says nervously to the drink in the man's hand, and the barman nods, turning to fix one up for her. ' Fuck it, she thought. After all these years, she can't trust the one man she thought she could always trust. Was anything he said true? time for a change. 
"You like old-fashioned," the guy said across from her, and Mary gave a shrug. 
"I've never had one," she admitted, and the man raised his brows in surprise. 
"Really, well, you're missing out. Barman, another for me as well." The man stood and scooted over to sit next to Mary. He was large and much older than her. He had dark hair that was turning grey in some areas, a crooked nose and lips, and saggy cheekbones. His hands were big with studdy fingers, unlike James's long, slender ones that made her body tingle just thinking about them. But now wasn't the time to think of him. 
"What's your name, darling?" Mary slightly cringed at the pet name but offered a kind smile. 
"Mary," she answered.
"I'm Mike; nice to meet you," he held out his hands, and Mary politely took it, shaking his. 
"So what brings you here?" He asked, and Mary sighed. Right now, she didn't even care who she was talking to, just as long as it wasn't James or John. 
"I had an argument with someone, and I just needed to let some steam off," she admitted. 
"I'm sorry to hear that. Alcohol is very good at letting out steam. What's your go-to?".
"My go-to?" she asked curiously with furrowed brows. 
"Yeah, your go-to drink?" he asked. He had a slight hint of cigarettes on his breath, and the yellowness on his fingers was confirmed. His jacket was creased and his shirt was ruffled, but Mary was taught never to judge a book by its cover. He was offering a sympathetic ear, and that was enough. 
"Oh well, I never drink, normally. But I think I've had a change of heart. And like you said, it seems to blow off steam well." She smiled, and he chuckled.
"Absolutely," the barman placed two glasses of old fashion in front of them, and a small napkin slipped across. Mary picked up the drink nervously, and Mike took his, holding it up. 
"Cheers," he said, and she clinked her drink with his. In an easy gulp, the man swallowed his breath as if it were water. Mary took the tiniest sip, which was enough for her to cough and splutter. The taste was strong, the alcohol hitting her brain instantly, and Mike couldn't help but laugh. 
"First time is always the hardest," Mary coughed still, wiping at her mouth. The taste was so strong that she couldn't take another sip for a moment, and she wondered how James could swig this stuff down like it was water. 
"That's so strong," she said, holding a hand to her chest. but the voice inside her screamed to take more, and after a couple more sips, her palete became adjusted to its bitterness. It wasn't long before alcohol hit her stream and her hands began to feel fuzzy and tingly, like she had sat on them for so long and they had gone dead.
Mike and Mary sat, talking and listening to one another. He sipped on his old-fashioned as Mary gassed on about being a nurse and a Christian and how she had never drunk alcohol before, the words soon becoming a slur as the alcohol took over. It was her first time drinking, and she was going to be on the floor soon. Mike had slipped closer to her, his horrible breath reeking over her as he nodded along to her voice, his eyes gazing into hers. But Mary was obvlious; the alcohol was having a big effect on her, and Mike was glad about it. His hand slipped a couple of times onto her knee, and Mary passed it off with a giggle as she adjusted herself on the stool. 
Two more rounds of old-fashioneds came, and Mary was pissed. She giggled and hiccuped, and her head lolled to the side as she stared over at him, asking what he does. Right now, she wasn't thinking about James; she wasn't thinking about John. She wasn't thinking about anything. She was just enjoying the moment. 
although the last sip of her drink made her wobble in her chair, and the barman looked over cautiously as he wiped down glasses. Even in her drunken state, Mary knew she needed to stop, and the darkness outside told her what time it was. 
"I should really get going," she announced as she pulled her purse out to pay for the drinks. Mike placed a rough hand on top of hers, stopping her, and pulled out a black credit card, handing it over to the barman. 
"My treat!" he grinned, but the grin was rather uncomfortable. crooked yellow teeth with dark stains in between. Mary jumped from the stool and stumbled out of the bar, a soft giggle as she began to make her way home, Mike close in her tracks. 
"Here, let me take you home," he offered, and Mary shook her head. 
"No, no, it's fine; I live so far away." She brushed off his request, but Mike stepped in front of her. 
"Come on, we can have some fun," he growled softly, as if he were trying to sound sexy, but Mary shook her head. 
"Oh no, I don't think we should." Her voice slightly trailed off as she stumbled across the sidewalk, falling into an alley beside the bar. Mike stumbled in with her, pushing her against the wall, and Mary whimpered. The alcohol was still there; however, her head was beginning to clear. 
"Come on, baby, I can make you feel good," he whispered, and Mary turned her head as he tried to kiss her, his rich breath falling on her, and she gagged. 
"No, Mike, this isn't." Her words were cut off as he gripped her jaw tightly, forcing her face into his, and he slammed his lips on hers. She squealed against him, fighting against his heavy body, and in a desperate attempt at escape, she bit down hard. 
"Fuck, you fucking bitch," he growled as he pulled back, his lip bleeding. His rough hands grabbed her and threw her to the ground, throwing her into the concrete and beside a puddle. Mary screamed as she hit the floor hard, her arm landing on a pile of broken glass and sliding into her skin. Just her luck, she would land straight on it. Mike growled with fury as he stepped towards her, but a scuffle could only be heard next. 
"Get your fucking hands off her." That voice could be recognised anywhere, even in her drunken state. 
James glared into Mike with fury, his lips hard and his hands gripping the collars of his open shirt, holding him against the wall. He was much taller than Mike, who was currently squirming beneath his grip. He growled back at James, his blood running down his chin. 
"Get your hands off me, asshole.".
"If you ever touch her again, if you even come near her again, I will fucking kill you." James's voice was low and meancing, with no onuce of volume but deadliness. Mike's glare turned into horror as he stared up at James, who held him firmly to the wall. 
"Who the fuck do you think you are?" He tried to free himself from the deadly grip, but James only shoved him harder into the wall. 
"I'm her boyfriend. You don't want to cross me," he warned, and with a quick swipe, he showed the gun tucked in his belt. Mike whimpered and slid down the hall, desperate to escape, as James finally released him and watched as he ran like a scared puppy. 
Mary groaned as she knelt up, looking down at her bleeding arm. "Shit," she swore. The alcohol must have taken over again because she never swore in her whole life, and the word had left her lips like it had been waiting to for many years. James rushed over to help her up, his arms hooking under hers to pull her from the floor. 
"Here, let me help," he said softly as he brought Mary to her feet. Her knees were scraped, her dress was ruined, and her hair was a wild mess. Her eyes were barely open as her drunkenness became apparent to James, and he could smell the alcohol on her. 
"I'm fine." She tried to pull away, but James held a firm grip on her, inspecting her arm. 
"Come on, let's go home," he ordered as he walked her out of the alley. His car was just parked outside the bar. Ned had given him the location of the bar, and he was so glad he had left when he did; otherwise, he may not have gotten there in time. It scared him to think about what could have happened to Mary had he not turned up, and it scared Mike to death. He was certain he wasn't going to see him again, and if he did, he would most certainly hurt him for hurting Mary.
"I don't need you to take me home; I can go there myself." Her words were a slur, and she could barely hold herself up. Despite knowing she was furious with him, he wasn't going to let her go home on her own in this state. 
"Have you been drinking?" he asked with furrowed brows. 
"Just one; I can drink, you know," she sassed, and James sighed. She had more than one bloody drink. 
"I'm taking you home; you can't go home on your own like this," he said sternly as he brought her to his car. Blood was running down her arm and dripping onto her dress, and James didn't want the public to see her like this. 
"Oh, so you're in charge of me now," she teased, and James opened the door, ushering her in. If he weren't in this situation, he would have turned around and said yes, with sexy eyes and a kiss to her throat. But right now, all that mattered was getting her home safe and cleaning her up. James slipped into the driver's seat and reached over to get her seatbelt, but she battered him away. 
"I can do it," she snapped as she tried to grab the belt, but her hands were so numb to the point they slipped, and she giggled, trying to find the belt again, but she wasn't anywhere near it. James reached over with one swift move and tugged the belt, buckling her in. If she wasn't hurt right now, he'd take her over his knee and spank her back to sobriety. 
Mary sighed and dropped her head against the seat. The car roared to life, and he powered down the road. 
"I'm mad at you," she murmured, and James stared forward.
"I know," he said softly back. 
"You know, I was just a normal Christian girl before I bumped into you; I was so innocent, and now my whole life has just been thrown upwards like a ball. like a football. or a basketball. And now I'm a mafia kingpins girlfriend who does crazy hot kinky stuff, which I enjoy." James couldn't help the smirk reach his lips at the last sentence. Perhaps drunken Mary was something he wanted to see more often. At least she was honest. 
"I'm sorry," he said, and he meant it. He didn't want to keep thinking like this. Where had their sweet honeymoon phase gone? It seemed to have ended so quickly. but, like they say, it doesn't last forever. 
"Don't be sorry; I like when you bring out those things you call toys," she murmured as her eyes closed and James chuckled. He wasn't saying sorry for the kinky shit; he meant for the fact that he had fucked up again. Now that he had it on record, she admitted to liking the kinky life. but that wasn't the focus of this. 
Instead of saying anymore, it was more important to get her home cleaned up. Her arm was bleeding, and she was cold and wet. James pulled into the driveway and raced around the car to help Mary out. She stumbled along the stone driveway, clinging onto his arm as he pulled her inside, and she hissed at the sudden pain in her arm. She was turning into a tired, drunk state now and could barely keep her eyes open. 
"Mary, just step up." James became slightly frustrated as she slipped on the steps, giggling and rolling about as he tried to get her up. She was making no effort to step up, and in a huff of inpatience, James threw her over his shoulder and carried her up. It was like battling a stubborn child. 
After a battle of getting her into some dry and warm pjyamas, the next task of cleaning her arm came. He held her arm steady in his firm grip as he pulled out tiny pieces of glass wedged in her skin, dropping them into a small bowl he found in the bathroom. 
"Oww. I don't know how you can do this all day long," she slurred as she sat cross-legged in front of him on the bed. James furrowed his brows at her in confusion. 
"What do you mean?" he asked, pulling the last piece of glass out of her arm. 
"I'm sure you've had your fair share of injuries over the years. Plus the drinking. That stuff is vile. I knew I should have stopped at one," James chuckled softly. Why is Mary so confident and sassy when she's drunk? She was right, though; he had had his fair share of injuries. none of them as easy as picking out glass. A couple slugs here and there, and a knife wound to his leg. The drinking—well, he started at the age of sixteen, so it was like second nature to him. He didn't dignify her question with an answer as he wrapped her arm in a tight bandage. 
"Come on, you need some rest and to sleep this off," he gently ordered as he pulled back the covers for her. 
"You know, I wish I could ignore you sometimes. perhaps the day we met. But you make it so hard, and I can't help but want more of you. Even if you are a mafia, whatever it is, you call yourself," she slipped in the covers, burying herself deep in the pillows as James wrapped her in the warm duvet. He stared at her from above, silent in his own world. 
She knew he was bad for her, and yet she couldn't resist him. She wanted him just as much as he wanted her. 
"You're like the devil sometimes. So tempting and sexy and hot and handsome. Even right now, I'm thinking about you," she mumbled into the pillow as sleep began to take over. James smiled, sitting on the edge of the bed, stroking her head softly until he heard faint snores. Without getting in the covers, he turned on his side, draped his arm over her, and pressed himself against her, his face nuzzling the back of her head. 
"So am I"
Chapter 35
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rice-enjoyer · 2 years
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Shed your kindness and composure ; like overworn snake's skin.
a/n: i post super inconsistently, apologies! harbinger time! smashing pots and pans harbinger time! of the sagau first impressions after realizing you are a morally grey god and not that sweet and kind one they tell tales and sing songs about. Mond version! Inazuma version! dottore and childe get like 2x more content than everyone else because they have blorbo rights cw: gn reader, sagau, so every juicy tag that usually comes with it! cult-ish, obsessive behavior, power dynamics, mention of blood. tartaglia is very battlesexual and 100% wouldn't mind dying by your hand. other than that, fluff! SIGNORA IS ALIVE ; I AM IN DENIAL! alrecchino gets shy, not clickbait, not proofread, as usual! sumeru archon quest(chapter III act II), spoilers in Sandrone's part!
There is always that special someone who knows just a bit more about you, excluding the gods. Between the harbingers? Il Dottore. You entrusted him with fixing you after your accidental arrival in Teyvat. Your godly powers couldn't heal, so after realizing you can teleport to places at will, he was the first person you went to, right after the gods. You deemed that your gruesome death would interest him the most, and as always, you stand corrected. Whatever sense of loyalty he had for the Tsaritsa (or anyone)has now been given over to you. All of it. So now, you have a very powerful, albeit sometimes a little possessive, devoted follower - him. A few vials he filled with your radiant golden blood while you were a bit light-headed, is a secret he will take to the grave, however, he does not plan on dying any time soon.
Since you can easily manage (manipulate) and keep some rowdier types calm, Pierro thanks you profusely for babysitting his immature colleagues. Which can happen very often. You reminisce about the past, usually accompanied by a hot tea. If either of you needs to get work done, and you happen to be within Snezhnaya, you always settle in his office and chat while having your dominant hand get cramps from all the signatures you both have to sign.
Another faithful little follower of yours is Sandrone, in a similar way to Dottore. She is just fascinated by all aspects of you. Asked you many, MANY times if you could inhabit the body of one of her Katheryne's. Or any other creation she has made. Or even herself? You protest, but accidentally say that possession is possible, it would be a somewhat painful and violating process for the receiver. Oh no, she is even more interested now! You have gotten yourself into quite a situation, how will you resolve it? In the name of science, will you do as she begs you to?
He tries to get access to all of those documents regarding archons, even Celestia, Pulcinella is just so very bothered that there is information he simply can't get his hands on. So he tries a tactic as old as time, a potential exchange of valuable knowledge of Teyvat that he has accumulated, hoping that maybe, someday you will share what the other nation's archons are planning.
When Scaramouche is not his usual bratty and bickering self, that means he must be accompanying you somewhere. Trying to be on his best behavior to not piss you off, you find it rather adorable. He, on the other hand, is a little cautious of you. You do remind him of someone rather unpleasant in his life. A proper and mostly ruthless ruler. You are not above acting on revenge. He has seen what that looks like. Once, an ordinary person was trying to impersonate you for some quick and easy mora. He saw sparks of fire dancing in your eyes. They still have burn marks.
You do find yourself in the presence of Pantalone rather often. Maybe because you picked up on some similarities between the two of you. He has those sky-high walls of protection, fake performances, compliments, and smiles. But it all crumbles into dust when he's alone with you. Freely speaking his mind, you realize how desperately alone all of the poor harbingers are. They sacrifice everything willingly for the Tsaritsa, but you still pity them a little. Plus, you find comfort in talking with most of them, it's a win-win type of situation.
La Signora, she is a force to be reckoned with, but so are you. She takes great satisfaction when you two walk somewhere and see the fear in the people's eyes. You do remind her that you have an image, a rather fake one to upkeep. And so, you banter with the Crimson Witch as if you were old friends, kind of feels like you already are. She has shown to be a reliable friend, and she's very easy to talk to, what's not to like? She had to do what she had to do, you reassure her that you would've burned the land of freedom into the ground if you heard your lover die on the battlefield.
If you happen to be in Natlan, Il Capitano will gladly take the time to teach you some self-defense or basic fighting skills. You do prefer to walk around the world, rather than use teleportation waypoints. There is always an agent accompanying you throughout Teyvat, Capitano was the first one to think of that. There is no ulterior motive behind practicing the art of battle, he just wants to make sure that even though you are a god, you would be harmed as little as possible. Unlike a certain ginger-haired harbinger.
Speaking of, Tartaglia takes pride in standing next to you, being your human shield, if the situation were to call for a fight. He loves the attention around you. And specifically your attention. You sparred with him exactly once, for good reason. You beat him, he was too... focused on his red blood on you, you pointing your spear at his throat while he's on the ground, the both of you being sweaty and very muddy. "Here I naively thought fighting you would be a challenge. Get up." - you let your weapon down gently onto the ground, giving him a hand. Your honest kindness in that situation has him smitten with you. He thought you would be merciful enough to kill him, right then and there - he really is like a puppy, trying to impress you with his latest tricks.
Oh, once you meet with Columbina, she is not letting you go until it is absolutely necessary, like having to travel into another nation for more debates and giving out directives to the archons to not cause another war. But sometimes even that doesn't stop her, sitting on your lap during one of those said meetings, the archons horrified, some intrigued, but all jealous. What they would do in that position. But you do pick favorites, you made that very clear. A very human trait of yours. To be fair, you are human, mostly.
You feel awkward around Arlecchino's orphanage at first, you never were good with children, remembering your own childhood. She would never worship any measly deity. But that soon changed when you spent an afternoon with her, chatting well into the evening. Whenever she has the time, she loves to show you around Snezhnaya. Walking next to each other, your hands collide. She starts stuttering and apologizing, while you laugh, she's really quite a character. She goes on about how anyone would get embarrassed if they made eye contact with you, let alone their hands would accidentally touch yours. You try your best to not tease her about it, but it has proven to be too difficult of a task.
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midnight-in-eden · 1 year
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This is what I meant in this post about being an angry atheist. I was taught to think anger was bad. I was taught to place moral value judgments on emotions. And anger like angry atheists have was especially bad, because it was linked with pride.
And you know what? It’s true!! My anger is my pride saying I should never have been treated like this. My anger is my self worth saying I am worth more than this, and not because of my Father, because of me. My anger is my protectiveness for myself and people like me saying The abuse and trauma have gone on too long.
For my ancestors who left their homes and walked on bloody blistered feet for a lie. For the girls in my family tree who were treated like cattle, collected in a herd for their husband. For the people of color denied access to exaltation and eternal families through the priesthood and temple ban, for the queer people who are still denied those things. For boys at BYU who underwent electroshock and induced vomiting “therapy” for the crime of being gay. For every child abused by a bishop or other leader. For every woman who wanted a career and gave it up because she was told her only priority was having and raising children. For every young man who felt pressured to go on a mission or face rejection and soft shunning from his community. For children who were denied baptism because their parents were gay. For everyone who was ever traumatized by a violent and invasive temple ceremony they weren’t warned about ahead of time. For all the people in poverty who faithfully gave their mite even when it was the only money they had. For every non-believing kid who’s sat through self righteous lectures from emotionally abusive parents. For every person who was ever coerced to sit in a closed office with an adult man and confess masturbation or anything else sexual, especially the children who were made to give these “confessions.” For every girl who grew up feeling like her body and sexuality were a dirty and shameful thing because of all the modesty culture and law of chastity lessons. For all the kids who grew up scared by the story of Abraham and Isaac, for all the kids who felt like their faith wasn’t good enough because they knew they couldn’t do what Nephi did to Laban.
I’m angry about historians who were excommunicated for telling the truth. I’m angry about people excusing racist and sexist scriptures. I’m angry about men telling me they’ve read about polygamy and came to terms with it, so I should too. I’m angry about queer people being called enemies of the family and signs of Satan’s increasing power. I’m angry about being manipulated. I’m angry about the abusive relationship I was taught to have with God, how I was told I would never make it without him, that I shouldn’t trust my own understanding but only what God (and his prophets) said, that I should be grateful he gave me this opportunity to have trials, to suffer, because it would turn me into someone better, someone he could accept living with him. I’m even angry for the girls who sadly took out their second pair of earrings based on the whim of an old man.
Yes, I’m angry! Aren’t you? Isn’t it wonderful? Isn’t it such a relief, such a gasp of fresh air straight into your lungs, to allow yourself to be angry about things you know are wrong?
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oh-surprise-its-me · 7 months
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Lil' headcanon of mine, Ron is fluent in several different languages (sure, Tom is too, as compacflt he has to, but there had been cases when Ron had to stop him before he accidentally said the wrong thing. In good faith, but still wrong, Tom please you've almost insulted that Chinese commander holy fuck please shut up). Chris is very much surprised when he hears him teaching baby Jake. He's surprised when he hears Tom and Ron switch languages. (Mav is confused too.) Now they both stare at their boyfriends and one son speaks different languages. (Bradley finds out during that faithful mission. He's not entirely sure of what it does to him... well, it does something indeed!)
Oh my god Aki you’re brilliant. (I don’t speak anything besides English and some American Sign Language sooo there won’t be any actual different language spoken.)
Tom can speak Polish, Spanish, and Russian bits of Mandarin and some sign language because him and Mav like to talk shit across rooms.
Ron can speak Polish, Spanish Russian, Mandarin, French and bits and pieces of others. He loves learning new ones.
They were in the backyard. Chris and Ron have been dating for about a year. Tom is staying with them until they’ve gotta go back. Ron started speaking fluent Polish to Tom, Chris thought he was going to pass out. He’s always known Ron is hot but lord.
Three weeks later they were in a restaurant on a date, a guy started speaking Spanish to the waitress she kept shaking her head until Ron leaned over and translated. Chris threw cash on the table and dragged Ron out of there and into a bed so fast.
Chris didn’t know how hot he’d find Ron switching through languages but goddamn. It’s hot.
When Jake started talking it was incredible. They had taught him some sign to say when he was hungry or thirsty or cold but him talking? Adorable. They cried when he first called Chris daddy.
Chris loved watching their kid learn what different things were.
When Jake one day suddenly asked for something in Polish he got a bit confused.
He blinked down at the little three year old. “Baby what?” Jake said it again and pointed. Chris had no idea what he’s saying. “Come on let’s go find papa he’s clearly been speaking Polish around you”
They go into the office that Ron uses when he’s at home. Chris bounces Jake. “Say it again baby.”
Ron looks up when Jake starts talking. “He’s doing it! Chris oh my god he’s doing it!”
“Hon. Love you and how excited you are. Did you not think about the fact that I can’t speak Polish.”
Ron looks confused. God bless this man. Somehow he’s got navy secrets up in that head of his. “Baby maybe wait until he’s a bit older and understands he needs to speak English at me and Polish at you.”
Ron goes a bit pink. He stands up and goes over to them. He kisses Chris, “and French.”
Chris blinks. “French.” “Maybe Tommy and I have been thinking about teaching him Russian also.”
Ron takes Jake from Chris. “Our son can’t save you from stupidity.” Ron lifts him onto his shoulder “yeah he can.”
Chris smiles, he leans closer and kisses Ron again. “Yeah you’re right he can.”
-
The first time Bradley sees Jake speaking a different language it’s Spanish with Javy on the ship after they landed. He didn’t know it at the time but Jake was talking about how he just wanted to kiss Bradley.
Two weeks after the mission they’re all together at Tom and Mav’s house. Jake is sitting up on the counter in the kitchen, he’s watching Tom and Ron cook like he always used to. He didn’t know how much he missed it.
Bradley is leaning next to Jake’s hip. Tom starts speaking to Ron. Bradley blinks, he’s not heard Tom speak Polish in years.
Jake chimes in. In Polish.
Bradley knows he’s staring. He can’t help it. “You speak Polish?”
Chris laughs from the doorway, he comes into the kitchen, he’s covered in grease. Chris goes up on his toes and kisses Ron. “He spoke polish more then English when he was four. Forced me to get a goddamn Polish to English dictionary.” Jake goes a bit pink. “Dad cut it out.”
Chris gets that look on his face that Bradley used to see on Mav sometimes.
It’s the ‘I could be more of a dick but I’m choosing to be nice today’ face.
Tom laughs and says something else. Jake goes redder. Ron slaps Tom, Chris snorts and loops an arm around Tom. Jake shakes his head, “Y’all are horrible to me I’m gonna find Mav.” He hops off the counter but drags his hand across Bradley’s stomach as he passes.
-
“Never thought I’d find you speaking a different language so not.” - “baby you think everything I do is hot.” - “shut up Jake come here and ride me.” - “yeehaw cowboy.”
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The German Crown Princess and Princess; Frederick and Victoria, The Princess Royal (daughter of Queen Victoria and Prince Albert).
Against their contemporaries of the German Empire, the couple shared liberal views and believed in a constitutional monarchy for Germany. Against the antisemitism of the time, the couple strongly supported the Jewish population of the German Empire regularly visiting synagogues when violence annd and antisemitism against Jewish people was increasing. Especially in the 1880s when a quarter of a million Germans signed a petition demanding Jewish people be banned from public office. Victoria wrote of her disgust of these leaders and her new nation who “behave so hatefully towards people of a different faith and another race who have become an integral part (and by no means the worst) of our nation!" This along with their other liberal beliefs heavily ostracised them from the conservative German court including Frederick’s parents. In contrast her mother, Queen Victoria, was proud of her daughter and son-in-law's efforts to stop the völkisch campaign and wrote to Frederick to say she was happy that her daughter had married a man like him, who was prepared to stand up for the rights of the Jews. Unfortunately for Frederick he would only become Emperor for 99 days due illness. Their son against their knowledge had been educated by a tutor with conservative views which meant their idea of constitutional monarchy would not come to fruition. The majority of their papers were saved having been sent to Windsor Castle before their son could destroy them. As Dowager she was heavily critical of her son who had purged all institutions of people chosen by Victoria and her late husband. When her son, Wilhelm II now the emperor (and last) wrote in the guestbook of the city of Munich the words "Suprema lex regis voluntas" (The will of the king is the supreme law"), she indignantly wrote to her mother; “The Tsar, an infallible Pope, a Bourbon or our poor Charles I might have pronounced that phrase, but a monarch of the 19th century ... My God, I think (...) Fritz's son and the grandson of my dear father took such a direction and also misunderstood the principles with which it is still possible to govern.”
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queen-scribbles · 5 months
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The Long Burning Torch ch 8
Alright, here we go, continuing what might be (rip) the longest day of Xaeryn's life for my @shepherds-of-haven 20's AU. (And a big thanks to @emeraldgreaves for code diving for me again <3)
Wordcount: 8,350~
---
Xaeryn's knee-jerk instinct was to correct 'abducted, not kidnapped'. As if that made a lick of difference to the fact Red was gone because someone had taken him.
Closely on its heels came Sun above, this is my fault. It wasn't as if Red was involved with anything else that had even a sliver of a chance to put him in danger; it had to be the research he was doing for her, or something else related to the case.
She shook off both thoughts and made herself focus. Panic wouldn't help Red. Her detective skills might. Would. "Could I see his office?"
Pan gave her a concerned look--probably heard the slight break in her voice. "Xaer, are you...?"
"Crying about it won't find him any faster," she said brusquely, squaring her shoulders. "But if those responsible" --for abducting him--"left any clues, especially if there's something I could use to help scrying..."
He nodded, an understanding gleam in his eye. "I think security's done and didn't find anything to make them suspicious, but you deal with this sort of thing more than they do, so if you wanna take a gander..."
He gestured toward the office, then followed a pace or two behind her, hands shoved in the pockets of his trousers. He didn't say anything and let her take in the scene.
It looked the same, roughly, as the last time she'd visited, just sans one tall, charming headmaster to greet her with an easy smile and warm green eyes. It almost offended her that Red's office looked the same without him in it, which was silly.
But it looked the same. There were no signs of a struggle or a fight.
Xaeryn traced a finger along the edge of the desk, smiling slightly at the trio of books half on top of each other, the stack of six more haphazard next to the chair, the charcoal grey suit jacket hanging off one corner of the chairback. It was the sort of space she could guess belonged to Red Antiqua without ever seeing him in it.
The books open on the desk were familiar ones; Jalis desert tribes, pre-Castigation artefacts. The research he'd offered to recompile for her. She stared at the desk and chairs for a long moment.
"... a girl does need a job eventually, and I’ve always loved a good mystery.”
“Or even a bad one..."
She didn't like how hard it was to focus on the task at hand; she was behind the eight ball enough without getting distracted by their bull sessions here over the past sennight--
She straightened.
"Ryn? You need to leave?" Pan asked.
Xaeryn shook her head. "I'm fine," she said, voice steady. "There are books on the chairs."
"Yeah, that's Red for you." Pan shot her a questioning look. "You know the man's borderline incapable of putting away books he 'might need later', even if later turns out to be two months down the road."
She couldn't help a small laugh. "No, I do know that. The books are still on the chairs. Whoever took him didn't try to be chummy and draw out their visit. When he has company that's staying, he moves the books so they have somewhere to sit. So this was quick in and out, no signs of struggle, and they didn't try to play coy. This was a mission."
God help her, it was hard to stay and sound detached about this.
"Well, night watchman says he didn't hear or see anything odd and he's always been honest and faithful in doing his rounds. He does stay on the first floor, though, as there's no other access to up here than the lobby, and there's another watchman outside." Pan crossed his arms, looking thoughtfully around the office. "So either they knew his schedule, got blazing lucky, or... didn't come through downstairs."
"If they didn't come through downstairs, maybe they had a Traveler," Xaeryn mused. "But it would be a gamble to translocate into an unfamiliar space as small as an office." She frowned.
"Maybe they just scaled the outside of the building," Pan suggested. "Wouldn't take more than an hour of waiting to gauge the outside watchman's rounds."
"And figuring out which window would be unlocked?" Xaeryn countered, just to see how far they could follow this possibility.
Pan's eyes narrowed, and he swore under his breath before darting down the hall. She arched a brow at the abrupt departure and resumed examining the room until he returned.
"The corner office," he said, scowling. "It's unoccupied right now, so we use it when we need a break. Sela's always smoking charch in there, and then Bart opens the window to get the smell out but he never remembers to close it all the way. And if the door's mostly shut, you wouldn't see it from the hall. Hael."
"Even if we accept that theory for how they got in, how would they make a clean sneak with Red?" she pointed out. "He'd either be struggling or..." she wrinkled her nose at the phrasing even as she said it. "...dead weight."
Pan ran a hand through his hair, rubbed the back of his neck, and eventually shook his head. "Search me."
Xaeryn mulled it over for a bit, looking at the other books on Red's desk, smiling at the scraps of paper sticking out to mark pages. "What if... both idea are right? They came in through the window, but translocated out? Their hideout would be a familiar destination, thus safe to Travel to. It's an effective way to get an... unwilling or unconscious companion somewhere without much fuss."
"That means there probably were only one or two of them..." Pan sighed, worrying his lower lip between his teeth. "I offered to help him. With getting things together for you. I already know some of the details and I can keep my mouth shut. He said it was fine; this sort of thing is fun. B'sides, it wasn't like he minded doing it for you--"
Her heart squeezed. "He said that?"
"No, but, Xaer" --Pan arched a brow at her-- "I know both of you well enough to read between the lines."
She couldn't argue that. "How many times do I have to remind you you can call me Red?"
"Anyway, if I'd stayed, and there were only a couple of these toughs, maybe... maybe it would be an attempted kidnapping."
Xaeryn shook her head. "Depends how badly they wanted him." Her conversation with Briony and Darius was too fresh in her mind. "You might also be hurt or dead, and that's the last thing he'd want. Or that I want."
"Good point." He sucked the inside of his cheek. "Why would someone want Red that badly, Xaeryn? Is this... because of your case?"
"I think so." She winced. "I just don't know what part of his involvement would make him an appealing target." She hugged her arms in close against her chest. "If it was something specific or just because we were seen together and the people I'm after thought taking him would... hurt me."
They weren't wrong.
"I don't want to know all of what's going on, Ryn," Pan sighed, "but if that's the case, these sound like some pretty nasty brunos to mess with."
"They are." No point sugarcoating it.
Pan didn't reply, just leaned against the wall sucking his teeth as he watched her.
Xaeryn circled the desk again, hoping desperately for something that would be a clue or--
A curling corner of notebook paper peeked out from under one of the open books on the desk. She shifted the tomes aside and found a whole sheaf, covered front and back in sprawling notes. He'd even written in their shorthand, which made a small smile tug her lips despite the circumstances.
"He got a lot down," she muttered under her breath, the familiar shorthand making something twist in her chest. I hope you're okay.
"Yeah, I think he foisted his class on someone else so he could just work on this all day." Pan pushed off the wall and approached. "Not a shocking twist."
Xaeryn looked up from the paper, brow furrowed but didn't rise to the bait.
Pan, however, was undeterred. He sat back on the edge of the desk, giving her a skeptical look. "You two have always been thick as thieves, but it made him a special kind of dizzy to have you come waltzing back into our lives, y'know."
The twist in her chest went tighter. "I didn't know, actually. But it's always wonderful to reunite with old friends."
"Uh-huh. Old friends." Pan studied his nails a moment, then looked back at her with brows arched. "And what happened between you old friends the night of the gala to make him not say a gods-blessed word the whole way back to the hotel?"
Her fingers tightened, crinkling the paper. "That doesn't seem like a relevant line of inquiry, Panrachus," she said, gaze fixed on the page before her.
"It is to me," he countered with a knowing smile. "Maybe something in there relates to why he got nabbed."
She didn't like that thought. Even more than she disliked Pan's prying. "Nothing happened at the gala."
"And after?" Pan asked pointedly.
"...I might do something dreadfully improper."
"Also nothing." It came out sharper than intended. Thanks to your timing. Xaeryn cleared her throat. "Beyond what you already knew; I got jumped on my way back and Red helped patch up the result of defending myself." She waved the bandaged hand as proof. "I'm glad he was there; it would've been a nightmare to do alone."
"Mm-hm."
She shot him a narrow-eyed look. "Why do I feel like you don't believe me?"
"I dunno." Pan gave her a look that spoke volumes. "Do you feel like part of it shouldn't be believed?"
She looked him dead in the eye. "Nothing. Happened."
"Alright, I believe you," he shrugged. A beat. "Did you want it to?"
The whole messy torrent of emotions she been damming up since that night surged in her chest. God help me, yes.
She was saved from a moment of naked vulnerability by something gleaming on the desk, down among the books and paper. She dug for it and came up with an earring, amber bead transfixed on a small gold hoop.
"Hello there," she murmured, cradling the jewelry in her palm. "Last I checked, Red wasn't one for earrings."
Pan shook his head. "And he's the only one who's been in this office since we got back from Haven..."
There was always the chance it came from a student who'd visited prior to that, but it was the only lead she'd found. Xaeryn did not want to dwell on what she'd do it it was a dead end. If it was her fault he'd been abducted, the least she could do was save him, too.
No time like the present, she told herself, and with a deep breath sat in Red's chair. Part of her would rather have her full focus for a scry, but she didn't want to wait the two hours it would take to drive home. There was a driving, itching need to do something now. She pulled out the small bronze dish from her handbag. Scrying with so small a focus would give her a fearsome headache, but she didn't care if it let her find Red.
Pan watched from the other side of the desk, lapsed into anxious silence.
Alright, you bastard. Her hand curled around the earring. Where are you?
Scrying on the present was like sticking her head in a shallow pond to see what was on the bottom--blurry or shadowed at the edges, but she could pick up the detail she was after.
This time, however, was like trying to dive into a frozen lake.
She could see the potential for a vision, but slammed into something that blocked her from reaching it. Dead air.
Xaeryn broke the attempted scry, heedless of the dull ache starting at her temples. "No, no, no..." she mumbled, looking around the room.
"Xaer?"
"It didn't work," she said sharply. At least that confirmed the earring didn't come from a random Solhadur student, but that wasn't worth beans if she couldn't use it to find him.
Her gaze lighted on the jacket hanging off his chair and she seized it, fingers curling in the charcoal grey fabric as the smell of dusty books and his cologne filled her nose. She stared fiercely at the scrying focus, daring it not to work.
Dead air, again.
Her heart lodged in her throat and she tried to push it back down. Think this through logically, Xaeryn. It can't be coincidence, this implies it is indeed the people who have the Torch--Kaza and his allies--who took Red. They clearly have a VERY good Binder laying wards. Maybe Neon would know something; Pan said he's working in Haven now, I could ask--
"-ryn." From Pan's tone he'd repeated her name a few times at this point.
"I can't see him, either," she admitted, numb at having to say the words aloud.
"So... what next, then?"
What, indeed. There had to be something else. Something she could do, someone she could talk to. She couldn't be powerless, not now, not for this. She fought the desperation tightening her chest. Calm. Panic will only cloud your mind, and how will you help if you aren't thinking straight? It took a few moments of sitting in silence, absently rubbing the fabric of Red's jacket between her fingers as she forced herself to follow her advice.
"Well," she finally began, "given I got the same result attempting to look for Liefred or the earring's owner as I do for Solimer's Torch, it's likely they're together. It's the only times I've had this happen when I scry, so I feel it's a logical assumption. I have Thieves Guild in Haven keeping an eye out for unusual activity in Ashtown--the most likely hiding place for these hooligans. I can see if they noticed anything since I last spoke to them. Having a..." Hostage? prisoner? "...person to stash in the same building might've stirred some some activity."
"All the way back in Haven?!"
"That is where my prime suspect currently resides," she pointed out. "And I have an appointment with a pair likewise working against him; maybe they saw something helpful if the Guild didn't."
Pan sucked his teeth a moment, then cracked a small, wry smile. "Red would have a heart attack if he knew you'd made a deal with a Thieves Guild."
"He can fuss over my choices til he's blue in the face, long as it means he's safe," she retorted, pushing to her feet. "I'll ring with updates, do you have a direct number?" She scribbled it sideways up Red's notes as Pan rattled it off, collected her scrying focus to tuck that and the earring in her handbag. Maybe later she'd have better results than just a headache.
"Maybe I should come with you. Just back to Haven."
Xaeryn shook her head, resting a hand on Pan's arm. "Just in case the security teams figure something important, if you're here you can pass it along."
His expression said he saw through the excuse to keep him somewhere safe, but he nodded. "Fine."
"I'll be in touch," Xaeryn promised. She hesitated to return the suit jacket. "Do you think he'd mind if I keep this? To try again later."
"Not a drop," Pan said, shaking his head. "Find him, Xaer. And be safe, huh? I don't want to lose one friend, let alone two."
She nodded, not pointing out those request may well turn out mutually exclusive, and headed for her car.
---
Her head was awhirl the whole drive home, but she didn't have time to puzzle it out--or speak to Thieves Guild--when she got back. She was cutting it close on making her meeting with Briony and Darius. One-God willing, they'd know something that would help tie King Kaza to Red's abduction, or at least gotten something pointing to where he had stashed the Torch.
Xaeryn parked, made a brief visit to her office to lock the notes and earring in her desk, and headed briskly for the meeting. She turned the corner just in time to catch a flash of green hair as Darius ducked into the curiosities shop.
While smart not to visit the café so soon, especially since he and Briony rather stood out as customers, it made Xaeryn wish she'd warned them of the shop proprietor's eccentricities. Chandry was harmless but... off-putting to some, and Darius didn't seem the type to handle off-putting well.
But she had bigger concerns now. Xaeryn took a deep breath as she pulled open the door, but there was only so much her nerves were willing to ease.
Darius wasn't immediately visible when she entered, but he found her quickly enough. "You look riled, miss lady detective."
Xaeryn flashed a flat look for his tone. "It's warranted. Where's Briony?"
He craned his neck to look around the store. "Either on her way, or I guess she couldn't breeze on his majesty." His eyes narrowed. "You don't look happy 'bout that. What's tricks?"
She looked down, pretending to browse the curiosities on offer. "A friend of mine was abducted. I'm of a mind it's connected to our... suspect; this friend was helping me with research on the Torch."
Darius frowned, playing with a dinged up first aid kit. "That's the only connection?"
"I don't need anything else," Xaeryn hissed. She dropped the charch pipe she hadn't really been looking at. "He's a professor, for Heaven's sake! The only thing remotely dangerous he's tied to is this!" She gestured between them. "I wanted to ask Briony if she'd noticed anything in King Kaza''s behavior or visitors that might help me narrow down when he was... taken."
"We need to find the Torch," he growled in an undertone, "not your sweetheart."
"Friend," Xaeryn corrected tartly--and far too quickly, even she heard it.
"Can I help you find anything?" Chandry's arrival had been so quiet it made Darius flinch, whatever remark he was about to make lost in staring at the garishly made up--or painted, Xaeryn had never decided which side of the line it occupied--face of the shop's owner and namesake.
"Not today, Chandry," she said with a small shake of her head. "Just browsing."
"In that case... make sure you look at the new arrivals," Chandry said, patting the rolled up rugs on a nearby table. "And, smart as you are, maybe you can help me with something." He leaned forward, elbows braced on the topmost rug.
It was the fastest way to get their relative privacy back, and he had saved her from a rather embarrassing turn of conversation, so Xaeryn indulged him. "Oh?"
Chandry grinned. "I've been having a wonder this morning. Which streets," he began conspiratorially, " would have the most ghosts on them, do you think?"
Xaeryn pretended to mull it over, though the answer was obvious, even tapping her finger to her chin dramatically. "I guess it would be... dead ends?"
He all but clapped in his enthusiasm. "Correct!" A flourishing bow. "I shall leave you to your shopping." He bounded off.
"Took long enough," Darius grumbled.
"Chandry's not so bad," Xaeryn said defensively. "You just need to know how to talk to him." There are benefits to being on his good side. But they were here for a purpose. "Back to the matter at hand, I am aware of your deadline; I'm fairly sure my friend's being held in the same place as the Torch."
"What makes you so sure?"
"I can't scry on him, either!" She bit her lip. "It's the same dead air feeling as trying to do so with the Torch, and it's something I've never encountered before, so it seems a logical conclusion."
"Hm," Darius grunted. "Y'know, if Jarkyth sent the brunos who grabbed your friend, there might not be anything to glean from Ackshin."
"I thought about that. D'you know if either of them employ Diminished? Aside from Briony."
"A few, I think," he shrugged, "but you'd have to ask Bry for specifics. What about your friend; he a Mage? Put up a fight?"
"He is, but his specialization is Conjuring, translocation, not combat."
"If he's a Traveler, why-"
Xaeryn held up a finger to cut him off. "I'm trying not to think about that. None of the answers that spring to mind are pleasant, especially in relation to my best friend."
Something glittered in Darius' eyes but he didn't pursue the thought. "Didja learn anything new before you got distracted?"
She had to grit her teeth not to snap Red being abducted wasn't a distraction. Instead of giving him the satisfaction of getting under her skin, she relayed her deal with Thieves Guild and plan to talk to them when this appointment was done. "And you? Did your behind the scenes snooping turn up anything?"
"Yes and no." Darius did a double take at a fishbowl--complete with fish--before pulling himself back to the conversation. "I tailed one of Ackshin's toughs, all the way to blazin' Ashtown, but she gave me the slip." He scowled. "Felt like we were close to where she was goin', too."
Xaeryn stiffened. "What part of Ashtown was this in? I can have the Guild look more closely."
"South-eastern, I guess I'd call it," Darius said after a moment. "Almost plastered against the outer wall."
It made sense for them to be away from the main drag, though she wouldn't have expected quite that far. Unless they knew of some way out through or under the walls.... For now the important thing was having a smaller area for search.
"Alright," she murmured, half to herself, "I can work with that, provided the Guild will play ball."
"Don't suppose you have anything more actionable for me, miss snooper?" Darius interrupted her train of thought.
Xaeryn grimaced and shook her head. "No, just the deal with Thieves Guild. I'm afraid I've been a bit preoccupied by the abduction today. So unless them making a bolder move helps you in some way, I don't."
He grunted and glared at a table of kitchen paraphernalia. "Gods damn this twisted up kn-"
The door jangled forcefully as it swung open to admit a new arrival, familiar pink ponytail swishing as she looked around.
Briony's eyes flashed when she saw them and it clearly took effort to act nonchalant on her way in their direction. She called a polite response to Chandry's greeting without even looking, dodged a small table, and finally reached Xaeryn and Darius. "Glad I didn't miss you," she murmured, examining a display of commemorative playbills and paintings. "Kaza had a couple meetings where he wanted a show of strength an' I think someone might've been tailing me--"
"And you still came?!" Darius hissed. Xaeryn couldn't disagree; it seemed a terrible risk.
"I lost them first!" she retorted, flicking him an annoyed look. "I've been doing this as long as you, Darius Torren, I know how to lose a tail!"
"Oh, but they're so useful for swatting flies, why would you want to lose a tail if you had it?" Chandry interjected, and Briony looked briefly taken aback by both his sudden presence and appearance.
At least she recovered faster than Darius, showing a warm smile. "Oh, I mean a much less useful kind of tail."
Chandry shrugged at the explanation and disappeared between shelves once more.
"All else aside, I am glad you made it," Xaeryn said to steer them on track. She had to take Briony's word she'd truly shaken the tail. "Any developments for you?"
"Jarkyth came by for a bit before lunch," Briony said, after a quick glance to assure Chandry was moved off and there were no other customers in the store. "They shut themselves in the sitting room for near an hour. They're planning something with the Torch, and I feel like--"
"Any other visitors or messages this morning?" Xaeryn interrupted. "Perhaps that evoked a change in demeanor?"
Briony gave her a curious look but nodded. "He got a message during breakfast that prompted a very smug smile." Her brow furrowed. "Come to think, he did say something to the messenger that I didn't catch. Wonder if that's what made Jarkyth come over; they've been really careful about appearances. Why?" She crossed her arms. "You're being sort of intense, Xaeryn. It's scaring me."
Xaeryn explained the circumstances. Again. "And with what you say occurred, I think it's a safe bet our friends are responsible."
Briony's expression shifted aghast and she reached over to squeeze Xaeryn's shoulder comfortingly. It was a surprisingly hefty squeeze. "Are you doing alright?"
Xaeryn nodded. "Don't have the luxury to be otherwise."
"Anything I can do to help?"
"Actually, yes. Do you know of any other Diminished among King Kaza's entourage?"
Briony's face screwed in thought. "That came along? Just a few. It's funny; he's superstitious as hael, likes to flaunt me at every opportunity, but he's also nervous about trusting in magic too much. There's a Binder, to do his protective wards. Shy little redhead, I've never heard her speak and don't even know her name," she said regretfully, twirling her ponytail as she continued. "Heron's Ket, mostly here for his skill with battle magic, but he's a fair hand at conjuring--"
"Traveing?" Xaeryn's brows arched.
"He... probably could if he had to," Briony nodded, then gave a small gasp. "You think he's the one who took your friend?"
"Seems likely," Xaeryn said. If he was a full-blood Ket he could do it single-handed. "Are they the only ones?"
"For Ackshin, yeah. Jarkyth has a few 'judiciously placed servants' he's alluded to. Mostly things like Binding or Seer, useful but not dangerous if they decide to turn on him. Has a Shifter Heron won't stop nattering about." She smirked. "I think he's stuck on her."
Darius snorted. "Not important, Bry."
"You never know, D." She shrugged and turned to Xaeryn. "So, why do they want your friend?"
"I've been trying to figure that," Xaeryn sighed, trailing her fingers over a dark lantern. "Even from unpleasant angles. If they know I'm on their trail and want to keep me in the dark, I've already learned--and written down--near everything about the Torch, and there are... more final ways to remove him as a source.
"If they want to use him as leverage to make me dust on the case, you'd think they'd be more blatant or would have left a note-"
"Unless they're countin' on your big brain to fill in the blanks," Darius interjected sardonically. "An' you knowin' without them sayin' serving to make you more suggestible."
"Such a ray of sunshine, D," Briony groused, elbowing him sharply.
"He has a point," Xaeryn said, gritting her teeth at the thought. "But they'll be quite disappointed if that's their goal."
Briony flashed a fierce smile as she shifted to a shelf of knick knacks. "So, what's our plan, then?"
"Darius mentioned trailing one of the king's people to Ashtown. I'll have Thieves Guild watch the area more closely if they're amenable" --and she'd sweeten the deal if that's what it took to make them amenable--"you and Darius keep an eye for our friends' behavior so we can act swiftly if they do anything hinky." She tapped a finger to her lips. "I hate being stuck in so reactive a course, but I fear it's where our options lay."
Though if opportunity presented itself she would seize it with both hands.
"I guess you're righ- Oh, this is adorable!" Briony gave a delighted (and distracted) squeal as she snatched a small ceramic ahfuri off the shelf. It was adorable, but-
Xaeryn cleared her throat.
"I'll keep eyes peeled," Briony promised, cradling her find.
"How're we passing along anything we see?" Darius asked.
"Telephone or wire, I suppose," Xaeryn replied.
"Right." Briony nodded, wiggling slightly as she glanced toward the counter. "I'm gonna go pay for this." She darted across the store.
Darius fixed Xaeryn with a steady look. "You will tell us if you learn anything, right, miss snooper? Before you go harin' off after your friend alone?"
"Have you decided to worry about me in his absence?" Xaeryn said dryly.
He just arched a brow.
"I promise to pass along anything I learn, I don't promise to wait before acting on it."
Darius chuckled and glanced at Briony, who was chatting up Chandry with another warm smile as she paid. "Don't s'ppose I can blame you for that." He tugged on his cap. "See you soon, lady detective."
Briony noted him leaving and darted after him, barely remembering to grab her purchase.
Xaeryn smiled and browsed a few more minutes before heading for the door herself.
A hand on her arm stopped her just before she exited. "One moment," Chandry chirped, pressing something into her palm. "Don't forget your prize."
Xaeryn blinked at the bronze sun brooch. "Prize-?"
The riddle.
"To the victor go the spoils," Chandry proclaimed, releasing her arm to give another bow, and then ducked away. Rather than drag things out by protesting or trying to insist on paying--experience said he wouldn't take a danar--Xaeryn slipped the brooch in her handbag and headed for her office.
---
It hit her like a thunderbolt halfway up the steps--it was midafternoon and she'd not eaten since breakfast. As if summoned by the realization, her stomach cramped and her knees bobbled on the next step.
Xaeryn scowled at the reminder she needed to eat. There was too much to do, she needed to talk to Thieves Guild, she needed to poke around, she needed to find Red before--
Her stomach growled loudly.
I think there's still my half a sandwich left from yesterday, she surrendered--reluctantly--to her body's urging. After all, she wouldn't get much done if she fainted from hunger. The half sandwich. Perhaps an apple. Ten minutes to eat. She could spare that. Red would fuss if he knew she wasn't taking care of herself.
Xaeryn smiled wryly as she unlocked the door. That was better motivation than anything. She checked the back of the door as she closed it; no sigil showing, so no break-in attempt. She collected the sandwich and apple, opting to sit at her desk and review notes while she ate. Maybe there was something helpful she'd missed.
There was quite a bit to review, though less than it appeared by page count given Red's sprawling shorthand. He didn't doodle like she did, instead filling the page edge to edge. It didn't look like he'd found anything new while getting this together and it was easy to skim.
As she tucked the papers back in the drawer her gaze landed on the earring. She set down the small remaining portion of her sandwich and stared.
Couldn't hurt to try again...
She removed the earring, fetched her scrying disk, and cleared her mind to focus. The disk's surface clouded, cleared, and gave her nothing but the same dead air.
Xaeryn growled and glared at the earring. "Where is he?!"
She'd run into protective wards or sigils before blocking scries. This was different; just empty not blocked, and it kept happening on this case--
The telephone rang. She very seriously considered not answering. She needed to get to Ashtown. But that would be unprofessional, and what if it was Pan? Or Darius, or Briony, though this would be awful quick for one of them. So she sighed and picked up the receiver. "Xaeryn Shrike Investigations." Please be quick.
"Finally!" Ms. Aerin huffed on the other end. "I've been trying to reach you for hours, Miss Shrike!"
Really should get a secretary... "Apologies, there was a development and I was out of office." She ran a hand down her face.
"From your tone, I'd reckon this is not a positive development in the direction of recovering the artefact and arresting the thieves?"
"It might lead there," Xaeryn acknowledged. "But the actual occurrence is not. They abducted my friend who'd been helping with research."
"Ah. My condolences, Miss Shrike. Is there any chance of them learning compromising details?"
"Not if I've followed the trail to correct suspicions, no. He knows the history and legend around the Torch, but not the current state of my investigation." She shifted her grip on the telephone. "And my suspect is already familiar with all of that."
"Ah, so you do have a firm suspect."
"Mm." The brooch slid out of her handbag when she nudged it aside, and Xaeryn picked it up to toy with as she talked. "I was pretty firmly on his scent after the gala, but I met a couple... inside men, shall we say, who confirmed my suspicions. So I've found the man, I believe, I just need to find where he's stashed the artefact" --and Red--"and proof of his complicity in the matter."
"Excellent! Mr. Syndran told me you had some promising leads from the gala, I'm glad to hear one of them panned out," Ms. Aerin said. "The case has felt... treading water too long."
"Oh, yes, I suppose those developments did occur after we talked," Xaeryn murmured, tracing the bronze sun's rays.
"Talked?" There was a frown in her voice. "Miss Shrike, I wasn't there."
Something cold skittered down Xaeryn's spine to swirl in her gut. "What? I grant that it was a full night, but I distinctly remember talking to you."
"Then apparently I have a doppelganger," Ms. Aerin said tartly. "I didn't go, Miss Shrike. I was dealing with the effects of a traitorous sandwich at lunch."
Food poisoning?? "Then who..." The nagging sensation of just missing something was back. Followed like a bucket of ice water by the thought of the conversation she'd just had.
There's a Shifter working for Jarkyth.
"Did you inform Mr. Syndran you wouldn't be attending?" Xaeryn asked, willing her voice to stay level as her mind raced to incorporate this twist.
"Of course. I called the office." A pause. "I was honestly surprised to learn he attended without me. But the Hall is an important enough contract, I suppose it makes sense..."
Xaeryn shifted in her seat and cleared her throat. "Ms. Aerin, to all appearances, he attended with you."
There was a long silence as the other woman processed her words, followed by a snort. "Do you expect me to believe some impersonator managed to fool Riel Syndran into thinking she was me for several hours?!?!"
"Not for hours," Xaeryn corrected. "A few minutes for the drive to the gala, and then a short chat every so often throughout the evening. Mingling's the point of such an event, from my understanding. And at one point when I was chinning with him he mentioned 'you' were bustling about as if the gala was your responsibility instead of the museum's."
"That is the sort of thing I would do," Ms. Aerin sighed. "Still, I wonder how she pulled it off. And why."
"Information would be my guess," Xaeryn said. She idly clipped the brooch to her blouse and pulled out her notepad to page through. "My chief suspect is the king of Elinden, who has cultural and religious motives if he is indeed responsible, and at least a few high-placed political connections who could hire or employ someone skilled at disguise. The only motive I could imagine would be nosing around to see if there's information they missed. Or something they need that I have, or if there was worry I was too close on their trail." She flexed her bruised hand, evidence of the answer to that.
"And what would they have learned from your chat with her?"
"From me? That I had talked to Miss Aescar about people who tried to buy, claim, or steal the Torch. And that my notepad had been stolen. Nothing they didn't know already."
"They knew about the notepad?" Ms. Aerin said, arched brow in her voice.
"Oh, right." Xaeryn explained the reasoning behind that belief, the words trailing off as she reached a particular note from her inaugural meeting with Briony and Darius. She stared at it a moment, then decided to take a shot in the dark. "Ms. Aerin, did you go to the museum to oversee the arrival of the artefacts?"
"That was the plan," Ms. Aerin replied. "However, there were a couple... issues that arose requiring my attention, so I had to leave before they were done."
Got you. Despite the nagging sensation still growing at the base of her skull, Xaeryn smirked. "Thank you. Enlightening as this conversation has proven, was there a reason you were trying to reach me? I have a couple time-sensitive angles to investigate..."
"Just looking for an update; we hadn't heard from you yet today and Mr. Syndran is getting restless at how long things are dragging out."
"Believe me, I share his disapporval of that," Xaeryn said, running a finger over the notepad page. "I'm highly motivated to change it, and hopeful one of the new angles will bear significant fruit."
"Very well then, I'll leave you to it. Good day, Miss Shrike."
"Good day." The nagging grew stronger as she dropped the telephone back in its cradle. She was missing something, something right in front of her, and she couldn't help but feel it was something vital.
Deep breath and half a step back, she told herself. If Ms. Aerin hadn't stayed to oversee the whole delivery at the museum, and she knew from Darius and Ferrin's accounts nothing happened to the couriers' caravan on the way through the city, then it seemed clear the Shifter masqueraded as her to get access once the delivery arrived but she'd left. Xaeryn pulled out the photograph of Solimer's Torch. It wasn't even the size of her palm; easy to conceal in a handbag or pocket--or your blouse if you were feeling bold.
I know how they did it. The adrenaline rush at that victory was somewhat dulled by knowing these people--smart, bold, and desperate--had Red.
The Shifter had probably been emboldened by her success at the delivery--faking bad humor so people were glad to be rid of you was one off the oldest tricks in the book. Enough to attempt something more daring, like copying Aerin again for the gala--
Xaeryn sat bolt upright in her chair, the nagging turned to gut-wrenching revelation as pieces clicked. There was one more thing the Shifter had learned from her at the gala.
Red was the only other person who could read her shorthand.
Nausea twisted and she almost tasted her lunch again. It really was her fault. She'd relayed the damning information to the culprits with blithe ignorance.
And now that she knew, and was recalling the encounter with a more critical eye, all the clues seemed blatantly obvious. The chillier manner, the repeated 'Detective Shrike' rather than 'Miss', the vague prodding at topics they had already discussed.
Self-flagellation later, tracking down Red now, she scolded. The one silver lining to realizing her gaffe was that if they had abducted Red for such a purpose, they'd need him alive, conscious, and (mostly) unharmed.
The swift counter to that--and extreme incentive to hurry--was she had no idea how far they'd go to make him cooperate. Or what they wanted from her notes. Or if they would believe what he claimed about their contents.
There was not, however, any doubt in her mind what would happen once they had what they wanted.
She needed to talk to Thieves Guild. Now.
Xaeryn pushed away from the desk with vigor, only just remembered to lock up the case paraphernalia, and headed out the door, determined steps carrying her toward Ashtown.
---
She'd wound her way through the streets and was just in sight of the cat graffiti outside the Guild's warehouse when movement raked her peripheral vision and a lanky figure dropped off a low roof nearby.
"You're sure gettin' easy with navigating our streets, Miss Shrike," Chase said with a grin, shoving his hands in his pockets. Dust or dirt smeared the sleeve and front of his dark red shirt, and his green eyes twinkled as he examined her. "Quite the skill for a proper lady to develop; people will talk."
"An excellent memory is actually quite a useful skill to refine as a detective," Xaeryn corrected. "I need to speak with you."
"Oho, straight to the point." He was still grinning. "This about the deal you made with Ari?" One hand came out of the pocket to gesture toward the warehouse door.
"Yes." She gripped her handbag tightly more out of urgency than concern. "I wanted to talk about the terms."
"Changing them on us already?" Chase made a tsking sound as he turned into a room, smaller than where they'd spoken before, more of an office. "Not wise to play around with Thieves Guild, sunshine."
Xaeryn grit her teeth. Miss Shrike. But it wasn't worth it. "Not... changing in any way meant to be detrimental or unfair to you," she said, taking a seat when he offered. "You know I'd asked your people to keep an eye for anything hinky. I was wondering what the trade off would be for more closely examining a smaller area."
"So, rather than a general 'let me know if anything weird happens on your turf', you want us to poke around part of it for something specific?" Chase sat behind what approximated a desk as he spoke--planks balanced atop crates--and put his feet up.
"Yes. What change would that bring to our bargained price?"
He smirked and played with one of his rings, studying her face with a keen look in his eyes. "Well, seeing as we've already made a pretty lyss off you, which I'm sure you'll at least partly claim as a business expense, so Merchants Guild foots the bill" --he gave a Cheshire grin at the thought--"I don't want any more of your money."
She arched a brow. "No?" The hair prickled at her nape.
Chase slid a knife free of its boot sheath and stared at the blade nonchalantly. "No, I think for this I want a favor." His eyes flicked to hers. "Regardless of if we find what you're after."
"Accepted, but I won't do anything illegal," Xaeryn said without a beat of hesitation.
"Darling, this is Thieves Guild," he drawled, his grin unwavering under piercing green eyes.
"And I"m certain there's at least a few legitimate things you can think of to ask me," she countered. "Nothing. Illegal." She'd square anything else between her and the One-God, but she wasn't going to jeopardize her livelihood doing something that would turn the police fully against her. She was already sort of a grey area to them. If push came to shove, she'd look for Red and the Torch herself.
"If it has to be on the up, then two favors," Chase said. He was studying her with narrowed eyes and it made her wonder what he saw.
She didn't feel like playing games to get an answer out of him, however. "One regardless, two if you're successful. I'm interested now in just the south-eastern quarter, near the wall in particular. Looking for a building that's being used to stash at least one stolen artefact and a... captive. But before you shift into that, did your people see anything from the more general assignment?"
"Twiggy blonde in the northeast part of the district, just hanging around." He waggled his brows. Xaeryn knew as well as he did people did not loiter in Ashtown for their health. "But she didn't do anything much; lingered and left, so I'd wager she got dusted on by whoever was s'pposed to meet her."
It didn't seem relevant, but she filed it away nonetheless. "Thank you. I'll be checking soon to see if you've found anything with the narrowed area."
"Anxious, are we?" Chase said with a knowing smile. "And could I get a description of this 'captive'? In case we see them, we should know if it's the right person, wouldn't you say?"
"He's tall, red hair, green eyes, street clothes sans jacket and perhaps tie." He didn't always wear one. "I'm not sure how they've been treating him, so he might be roughed up." She stood. "And this is a time-sensitive case that has already drug out longer than desired, so perhaps I am a bit anxious for its conclusion."
"Hopefully we'll find something that can help with that goal." He swung his feet down. "Be seein' you, Miss Shrike."
"You certainly will, Chase." She made her way outside, blinked through the dim-to-bright shift again, and briefly considered poking around herself before deciding to return to her office. Perhaps scrying on Red directly would work this time... If she could just see him, it would help the worry gnawing in her chest. No matter how dire the straits.
---
It did not work. Still nothing. Xaeryn hated feeling powerless at the best of times, not being able to do anything now, with Red in harm's clutches, was pure torture. It was getting harder and harder to fight off the frantic, paralyzing dread as each avenue she explored dropped a dead end in her path. She even got desperate enough to poke around the king's hotel, but that, too, came up empty.
She wasn't truly hungry, but when dinner time came she didn't have anything else to do except pray and go over notes again. Wait for Briony or Darius to reach out, if they would have cause. So she fixed something small and made herself eat. She didn't taste a bite.
To keep herself from pacing a hole in the floor, she decided to give scrying with the earring one more shot. Third time's the charm, wasn't that the saying?
Yes, she was getting a headache from scrying so much in one day. (Or trying to.) No, she didn't care if it would let her find Red before something happened to him.
There was a sense of last-ditch finality to this attempt as she prepared. Logic would dictate giving up if it failed to produce result again. Xaeryn wasn't sure she could be logical about this.
She pinched the earring between her thumb and first two fingers, focused on the bronze scrying disk, and sent up a prayer. One-God, please.
The surface wavered, clouded, cleared on an image. A lightning bolt of desperate relief seared through her and she almost lost the scry before focusing greedy attention on what she could see. A tall man, well built, with silvery-white hair. She strained her concentration until pain lanced her temples and could make out the Ket tattoo on his wrist and earring the match of the one she held in his ear. The background was fuzzy, but she got the sense of generic grandeur, like a ritzy hotel. Another figure stepped into the bounds of her scry--King Kaza Ackshin.
Xaeryn struggled to keep her breathing steady as hope nipped at her soul. A solid connection.
There was another silhouette at the edge, just a shadow, but it might've been Briony. The posture and ponytail looked right.
Her subject--Heron, she'd guess--and King Kaza were exchanging words, which the silent nature of scries meant she didn't catch, and their positioning made it hard to read lips. But it was clear from body language they were preparing to leave. The toll was too much and the scry faded as the figures headed out of the room.
Xaeryn's heart pounded with adrenaline and exertion in equal share as she sat back.
A lead. Oh, blessed God above, she had a lead. They were heading somewhere, the gamble was if it was where she wanted to find or something unrelated.
She was on her feet and halfway across the room before she remembered her promise to Darius. If Briony was with King Kaza, did that count as one of them knowing? Did she really have time...
Xaeryn groaned, turned back the desk, and called the place Darius had said he was staying. No, "Mr. Thrace" wasn't in, did she want to leave a message for him? Deep breath through her nose. "Tell him to meet his snooper friend by the Ashtown gate. She's not going to wait for him long." She hung up before the desk clerk could respond.
If she hustled, she could pick up the king's entourage at the gates and follow. If that's where they were going. If it wasn't, she'd be out of the office, should anyone try to reach her, and miss a vital update.
She had to follow this. To be so close, have this dropped almost literally in her lap...
What she'd seen of King Kaza's expression was eager--he was looking forward to wherever this would lead. That thought alone tipped the balance. There was only one course of action for her and she knew it.
Xaeryn didn't even bother with a hat this time. She only grabbed her handbag because it held her dagger, and if she'd chosen correctly, she would likely need it.
Please let me be right. Please let him be alright. There was no way to ensure someone knew what she was doing--she really should get a secretary--so she'd just have to hope. Hope Briony was truly along, or Darius wasn't out long to get her message, or something. This might very well be the culmination of her case, and all she cared about was saving her friend.
"Nothing. Happened."
"Did you want it to?"
Her hands were shaking as she locked the drawer, locked the door, and hurried toward the Ashtown gates, thoughts on Red and a fervent prayer in her heart.
18 notes · View notes
levans44 · 11 months
Text
Damage Control - Chapter 18
"My faith is in people, I guess. Individuals. And I'm happy to say for the most part, they haven't let me down. Which is why I can't let them down either.
I know you were only doing what you believe in, and that's all any of us can do. It’s all any of us should.
So no matter what, I promise you:
If you need us, if you need me, I’ll be there."
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“Ok, repeat it back to me.”
“Robin, I swear I’m—”
“—Oh my god, please just shut up and repeat it.” 
She shoots her friend a glare, before rolling her eyes with a defeated sigh.
“Fine. I was going into work that morning when the pro-SRA organization ambushed me with the petition, and they wouldn’t leave me alone until I signed it.”
“Ok. Good. Just…” Her friend brushes a hand through her hair, watching her worriedly. 
"You’ll be okay, right?”
She nods, trying to give her a reassuring smile. 
“Yeah, Rob, I’ll be fine.”
She shudders a little, glancing over at the giant set of opaque glass doors next to them. Awaiting behind them was Nick Fury’s office. Although technically a ‘performance’ review, every employee at her company knew that: 1) Fury never does employee performance reviews, and 2) her little stunt from months ago, which had been making national headlines all week, had generated several concerns amongst SHIELD board members, to put it lightly. 
Seeing as how rare it is for a lower-level agent to have a one-on-one meeting with Fury, she already knows this is probably a long-winded way to terminate her position at SHIELD. She’s spent the entire day preparing herself for whatever Fury was going to yell her way—in consideration for her friend, however, who seemed twice as nervous as she was, she tries hard to act hopeful.
“You’ll… you’ll be fine.” Robin mutters to herself, straightening the edges of her blazer before a loud buzz in her pocket catches her attention.
“Shit. They need me back at the office. Call me as soon as you’re do—”
Robin is suddenly interrupted by the sound of the door opening beside them.
When she looks up, she comes face-to-face with a bright white star.
Her eyes flit down to the red-and-white stripes running down his abdomen, brown belt holstered round his hip. Rough, blue fabric makes up the rest of his uniform, running up his arms and converging at the silver-white star on his chest, just above her line of sight. Her gaze dares to travel up, further, following the swell of his biceps, the tense lines of his shoulders, the sharp shadow under his jaw. He’s still got a faint line or two where his injuries were deepest, but most of his scars had healed like they had never happened in the first place. When her eyes reach his blue-green irises, he meets her gaze for a split second before diverting just as quickly, turning his head to the side. Abruptly, he steps aside, moving behind Robin with a quiet ‘excuse me’ before continuing down the hallway.
She blinks, her head turning involuntarily as her eyes follow the giant shield on his back, gazing longingly. 
From behind her, Maria Hill shuffles out of Fury’s office with an awkward cough. Her head whips around, and is met with a sympathetic smile and a weak nod.
“Come on in.”
Her heels click across the marble floor as she closes the door behind her, spotting Fury seated at a large conference table in the far corner of his office. The sheer size and grandiosity of the room, with its open floor plan and floor-to-ceiling windows, made her own office look like a child’s playroom.
As she begins the terrifying walk to her inevitable demise, she’s struck with the confusing realization that it’s not her job she’s worried about. As her mind races through all the reasons for Steve’s unexpected appearance, she’s acutely aware of everything he could’ve told Fury, to get her suspended or fired from her job. He could have divulged information about the personal grudges she has against the Avengers, against SHIELD. How she could’ve let them interfere with her job. How, in a way, she already has.
Yet, the only thing her mind can focus on is the look on his face standing outside of Fury’s office, his gaze just before he turned his head to the side.
‘If you knew that I wasn’t some freak? Some threat that needs to be monitored?’
She draws in a shaky breath, before exhaling.
Whatever Steve had to say to Fury before she walked in, whatever happens as a result of this meeting, she deserved it.
She swallows the nervous ball lodged in her throat, and any thoughts about using the excuses she’s rehearsed with Robin wipes clean from her mind.
She approaches the table, sliding into a plush office chair across from Fury’s. A giant slab of sleek black marble, almost 10 feet long, divides them. 
“Agent,” He speaks, voice booming even across the wide expanse of space. His tone is calm, without a trace of resentment or anger. Yet, his shoulders are tense, tight around his neck. There’s a small twitch in his brow as he speaks.
“I’m sure you understand why you’re here.”
“Yes, sir.”
He sighs, and she’s not sure whether it's anger or resentment that etches into his voice.
“Agent, where you choose to express your personal beliefs is up to you.”
He pauses a little at the word ‘beliefs,’ brows furrowing as if it evokes a bitter taste on his tongue.
She nods again, the knot tightening at the bottom of her stomach—she had a little inkling about where this was going.
“Yet you understand that when there’s all this press about a SHIELD agent showing up to an SRA rally…” He leans in, hands folded in front of him.
“… it puts the integrity of SHIELD at risk."
She doesn’t nod again, just focuses on how sweaty her palms had grown, shallow breaths hitching in her throat. She fiddles with the edge of her blouse, eyes lowering to her lap, and suddenly regrets every association she’s had with the pro-SRA organization. What had made her sign that petition so boldly?
“In light of all this, I was planning on suggesting a temporary suspension for you to the administrative board.”
Shit. There it was.
Out of the corner of her eye, she notices Fury lean back in his chair, glancing out the window. Then, with an incredulous tone, like even he couldn’t believe what he’s saying, he adds:
“Until Cap decided to vouch for you.”
Wait, what?
Her eyes snap up, wide and round. She frowns, a small crease forming between her brows. 
“I’m sorry, sir, I don’t understa—”
“—he showed up here with a whole speech about how SHIELD shouldn’t discipline you. Said it would be… foolish of me to punish you for sticking to your beliefs.”
For a moment, she expects him to burst out into an angered speech, or perhaps even laughter—was this some sort of elaborate prank? Then, Fury lets out a loud sigh, and she watches the pressure from his shoulders completely dissipate.
He looks up, shrugging earnestly.
“And frankly I agreed with him.”
“I… thank you, director.” She’s truly at a lost for words when she spots his lips twitch, the corner of his mouth raising just the slightest amount in an attempt at a smile. 
“Don’t thank me, agent. Thank Rogers.” His heard jerks in the direction of the door, signifying the end of the meeting.
She nods, pursing her lips, and stands up. With a quiet ‘thank you,’ she exits Fury’s office.
Her arms feel like they’re made of yarn when she pushes against the heavy doors, stumbling out and finally catching her breath.
She takes in a deep breath, and shudders out a relieved breath. 
She’s not fired.
Not even suspended. 
More importantly, Steve had been there to vouch for her.
“What’d he say?”
Her eyes snap up at the sound of a deep voice from across the hall. Steve’s leant against the wall right outside of Fury’s office, arms across his chest, still dressed in full combat uniform.
“What did you do?”
He purses his lip, uncrossing his arms and taking a step in her direction.
“Not here.” He mutters before turning on his heels, casting her the subtlest of glances: indication for her to follow. 
As she trails behind him, down the winding hallways of SHIELD HQ, her eyes find it hard to look at the white star mounted on his back, shining like a blinding beacon. So, she focuses on the marbled tiles on the floor instead, counting the thin, black veins that run through the white. Yet, even that isn’t enough to distract her from the whispers and glances of employees that pass them by. Most notice the man walking in front of her first, his characteristic stride tall and commanding, staring up in awe or giving him a small greeting. Soon, though, they spot her, and their expression changes. She doesn’t have to guess what’s running through their mind, seeing as how her little vendetta against the Avengers had already made national headlines. 
Thankfully, her walk of shame is rather short-lived, as Steve stops in front of an empty conference room somewhere at the end of the hall. Opening it with a voice command, he moves aside for her to step in first, and she complies. 
With her back facing him, she silently fists both hands at her sides, in an attempt to stop her fingers from trembling so goddamn much. She hears the glass door slide shut behind him, and only then does she open her mouth, voice coming out in a quivering whisper.
“Thank you.” 
Her eyes flutter shut, and she focuses on the quiet drone of the AC as it starts up again. 
She hears quiet shuffling as he takes a take a small step toward her.
His voice is quiet, deep as ever as he speaks. 
“You don’t need to thank me.”
“Yes, I do. If…” She sighs, turning around to notice that his gaze was fixed on the ground. 
“…if it weren’t for you, I would’ve been suspended, maybe even fired—”
He shakes his head, brows furrowed pensively.
“—someone else would’ve vouched for you. Tony, Sam.”
She blinks, biting her lip.
“I-I dont…” She frowns, shaking her head, and takes a step closer. When she opens her mouth again, her voice is a quivering whisper—any louder, she’s afraid it would break.
“Why’d you do it?”
At that he lets out a drawn out sigh, and the divot between his brows disappear as the tension in his face dissipates. He looks up, deep blue eyes boring into hers. 
“For as long as I could remember, I just wanted to do what was right. To me, opposing the SRA was the only way to protect the people I care about.”
He looks up, meeting her gaze. For the first time in a while, he gives her a smile. 
“Then I realized that… you were only doing the same. Doing what you believe in. To protect the people you love. And that’s all we can do.” 
He takes a step forward, eyes so sincere and vulnerable she forgets how to breathe.
“… all we should."
“Is that what you told Fury?” She chokes out, a mixture of relief and adoration taking her by storm, emotion swelling up in her throat. Her nose stings, tears starting to crowd her vision.
“I just told him the truth. That you’re an amazing agent and that SHIELD couldn’t afford to lose you.”
The words come out of his mouth so matter-of-factly, like it was the most concrete truth he’s ever known, and that draws her over the edge. Her heels click rapidly against the floor, closing the few feet of wretched space that separates them. She throws her arms around his neck, crashing her lips against his. For a moment, his body freezes, as she feels the muscles in his shoulders tense beneath her hands.
Then, slowly, his hands lower to the small of her back, arms snaking around her waist as he bends down. She feels his hand cup her face, silently wiping an errant tear that had fallen onto her cheek as he tilts his head, deepening the kiss. 
It’s a frenzied blur of rushed breaths and warm touches after that—both her hands grip tightly to the leather harnesses on the front of his uniform, guiding her steps as she walks backward to the table behind them. His hands slide down to the back of her thighs, lifting her effortlessly onto the surface. Warm fingers trace along under the bottom of her blouse, where it had been neatly tucked into her pencil skirt.
She reaches around, desperately trying to find the seam to his goddamn airtight uniform. She search blindly for a button, a seam, a zipper—anything. All the while, he’s chasing her lips like the fate of the world depends on it. 
“Fuck, how the fuck do you get this thing off?” She pants, pulling back from his lips as she finally admits defeat. 
He laughs into the corner of her mouth, giving her another peck before he pulls back. 
“We should probably wait until we’re somewhere more… private?”
She sighs, nodding, trying not to think about how many security cameras must’ve been installed in this room.
Hips resting between the space between her legs, he leans forward, quietly wrapping his arms around her frame and drawing her in for a hug. She leans into his chest as she feels him let out of a content sigh, resting his chin on top of her head.
“How do you do it?”
She whispers into the star on his chest, the rough patch of fabric on Steve’s uniform digging into her cheek. He remains quiet, gently stroking her back as silent encouragement.
“Have so much faith in… people, individuals?”
He leans back a little, looking down meet her gaze, so warm and deep and blue. It reminds her of the first time they had spoken, on that roof at Tony’s party.
“How do you know they’ll do the right thing?”
He smiles a little, as if her question had the most obvious answer in the whole world.
“Because that’s the same kind of faith people put in us everyday.”
She huffs out a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding in, a wide smile spreading on her face as she feels her cheeks grow warm. She doesn’t know whose the first to lean in, but soon his lips are back on hers, warm palm framing the side of her face.
He breathes in deep, nose pressing into her cheek as he shifts to hold her closer, hand sliding to the back of her head while his fingers thread through her hair. 
His lips are hesitant when they pull back, hovering just inches above hers.
With their forehead still pressed together, her eyes flit across the small scars he’s still got remaining on his upper lip, another along his jaw. 
She frowns, leaning back to trace a thumb along the faint white lines. 
“Those’ll be gone soon.” He murmurs quietly, detecting her silent concern, eyes half-lidded as he leans into her touch.
“But they still hurt.” She mutters, brows furrowed. Still not convinced, she scans his face for more remainders from his latest injuries. 
 He smiles, his hand raising to mirror her movement, thumb grazing the highest point of her cheekbone.
It’s only in that comfortable silence she realizes that: 1) he’s in full uniform, though he didn’t seem to have come back from a mission, and 2) it’s the first time she’s actually seen him in-person with the suit.
“Was all this really necessary?” She smirks, looking him up and down—had he really gotten in this thing just for his conversation with Fury?
He ducks his head for a brief moment, before his eyes flit up to meet hers. Though the corners of his lip raise shyly, still a little abashed, he stands a little taller, brows quirked with a newfound confidence. The teasing glint in his eyes sparks something new in her stomach. 
“Why, you don’t like the outfit?”
“Oh, no, I like it…” She smiles to herself, tugging teasingly at one of the attachments on his belt, tracing the roughened edges of the fabric as she draws him in closer.
“… a lot.”
She leaves a teasing kiss on his lips, etching a grin onto his mouth before pulling back, slipping off the table and ducking around him. 
“Do me a favor,”
She calls out, stepping in the direction of the door as straightens the collar of her shirt. She follows his eyes as they flit down to the top buttons of her blouse, where she had left them purposely undone, just as he had left them. She looks up, grinning slyly. 
“Come pick me up after work…” As she gestures to his uniform, he cocks his head to the side, giving her an inquisitive smile.
“…in that.”
(And she adores him that much more, when, at a quarter past 6, he actually does show up to her building in full uniform, shocked glances from her coworkers be damned.
“You know I didn’t actually mean for you to show up as Captain America, right?”
“You didn’t? Do you want me to take it off?”
"Steve!"
She ends up adoring him even more when, later, she finds later he had meant that literally too—who knew you could fit a t-shirt and slacks underneath a suit that tight?)
Damage Control Masterlist
18 notes · View notes
ingoldendreams · 10 months
Text
It’s dangerous outside. I hear my god say when I try to peer out the window.
I pause in my action, too-human curiosity warring against my faith.
Finally, faith wins out and I step away from the curtains.
It is dark outside, no shred of light entering my room.
It has been that way for a while now.
I open my closet and take out another cup of instant noodles from the never-ending stash. It is warm in my hands. I open it and place my lips to the side of hard plastic. I down the contents.
It is too salty, as instant food often is.
I lick my lips and throw the cup into the trash. It enters and joins the rest of the cups I had downed.
I turn back to my computer, starting it.
Idly, I count the seconds as it whirs to life, age taking its toll on the old machine. The lights flicker.
Ten minutes later, a bright screen pops up. I open a blank document and start writing.
The Lord of the Mysteries fell into slumber, my god dictates.
Fingers run across keys. I don’t say a word, even when my god speaks too fast for me to follow. My god will not slow down for me, I have learnt this. I fill in the gaps with my own imagination. My god has said nothing, a silent agreement, I would like to think.
And within the cocoon, a young worm breaks out of its shell.
I type on, my mind dull to the strange words strung together on the screen.
So begins, my god croons, the tale of the Lady of Misfortune.
Beginnings are always an end. I have learnt this from countless stories I have scribed.
Without waiting for my god to say so, I save the document and close it.
My god does not say a word. I stand up from the rickety chair, leather peeling off it in bits and pieces. I stretch, bones cracking and popping in a way anyone who has ever worked an office job would feel.
I glance at the curtains, what was once a bright yellow now washed to a dull grey. It hangs still, not a single movement to it.
My fingers itch for the edges of the worn cloth. I resist the temptation.
“When will it be safe outside?” I ask.
Soon, I hear my god whisper lovingly like a parent to their child, very soon.
I glance at the thousands of documents stored in my endless storage.
Soon, I think, and cannot help but doubt.
-
I haven’t left my room in a while.
Reaching for the doorknob sends palpitations in my chest, beating and drumming like a balloon squeezed tight to the point of bursting.
The thought of drawing the curtains would set a nagging god upon me.
I sit blankly on my bed, looking at my computer, blaring out a song. It is staticky and cuts off at the most inopportune times, a sign of its age.
Unable to bear it any longer, I stop the song and open up a game instead.
It is an old game, but still widely played.
I enter the server and kindly ignore the glitch in its name. It still works – there was no need to complain about cosmetic issues.
My avatar appears in a town square. I open up my friend page.
Most of my friends had stopped playing a while back, but I had found a few more friends within the game. They were odd characters, but when there were no more than a hundred players left remaining in the game, beggars couldn’t be choosers.
Everyone had a unique title. I had gained mine from spending time within the in-game library, penning down – certain fictional works that certainly had no relation to any existing player, widely received by the thousands of players there once was.
‘Library of Babel’
A popup from a chat caught my eye. It was from one of my friends, a presumable-woman (you never knew who was behind the mouse of a character) who always insisted on using the full title given to me instead of the shortened ‘Babel’ or ‘Babe’ my other friends had taken to calling me.
‘What’s up, Matron of Chaos?’ I typed. It was a pain, having to type out her full title, but she got upset if I did otherwise. She never really said so, but I figured it out after I had died to her summoned creatures one too many times.
I still died to her creatures every now and then, but it never hurt to please her more.
‘The Red Mist has infringed once again upon my property. As per the rules, you will be the judge and arbiter in the absence of the Black Pharaoh.’
Not this again.
As of late, the Matron of Chaos had been picking a fight with the Mother of the Red Mist. It was around the time the Red Mist’s title changed.
Still, with the Black Pharaoh missing, I had been dragged in to witness their fights and arguments – if it could even be called that. As annoying and arrogant the guy had been, I couldn’t help but miss his presence now.
I watched numbly as my avatar died and respawned, caught in the aftermath of some powerful AOE attacks, resting my cheek on my arms as I yawned.
In the depths of my mind, I could sense my god watching this petty squabble with great interest.
I turned my attention away from the battle and to my friends list instead, scouring through the still active players.
‘Master of Dimensions – inactive’
Huh. That was one name I hadn’t thought would go off. Master of Dimensions, or Scammer, as I liked to call him had been planning something or the other against his perpetual feud with Formless Chasm.
I scrolled down the list and confirmed that Formless Chasm was inactive too.
I leaned back into my chair and sighed.
More people dropping out of the game.
Absently, I reached for the curtain.
It’s dangerous outside, my god hissed. I obediently withdrew my hand, looking back at the computer screen.
The screen flickers, the game closing and making way for a new document.
I sigh, but wriggle my fingers and prepare myself for another writing session.
 -
A person walked through my door.
I turned to look. The person had no face. And not in the way that meant the person had no features – I saw through his head, like there was nothing there, much like a badly rendered image filter.
“How did you get in here?” I asked. “It’s not safe outside.”
The person stood right at the doorway, facing me – or I assumed so, it was hard to tell. The person didn’t answer – not that it could without a face.
“Who are you?” I asked again. “Do you not remember who you are?”
My computer screen flickered, then bluescreened on me.
ERROR
RETRIEVING USER DATA…
USER NAME CORRUPTED
USER PROFILE CORRUPTED
ERROR
RETRIEVING BACKUP DATA…
USER NAME RETRIEVED
USER PROFILE RETRIEVED
The screen flickered again, and the screen was restored.
The person’s face was also slowly retrieved and pieced back together, pixel by pixel.
“Do you remember who you are now?” I asked. “Who are you?” I asked again.
The person didn’t reply.
I waited another minute before it became too late to wait for a reply.
BACKUP FAILED
DELETING USER DATA…
USER DATA DELETED
The person crumbled, body changing into 1s and 0s that could no longer be sustained.
I sat back as the person disappeared, leaving me to my lonesome once again.
-
“Who are you?”
I kicked the floor, turning my chair around to look at the person standing in my doorway. This time, I wasn’t the one who had spoken.
“Do you remember yourself?” I asked.
The person before me had a face – a sense of self, no matter how blurred it was.
The person was silent for a second, then replied, “yes.”
“Come in,” I said.
The person stepped inside my room cautiously.
“I am the Library of Babel,” I said, “are you worthy to be my god?”
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softguarnere · 1 year
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Like A Girl (Like A Man)
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Shifty Powers x OFC
Chapter 9: An Inconvenience
Summary: Then the word reaches them: tonight.
A/N: A stormy day, but tumblr actually let me upload the moodboard, God bless 😌🙏🏼 I managed to make some progress in my term paper, so here's an update that I've been anticipating for a while. This chapter plus the next two have been giving me brain rot for months, so sharing them has me feeling like I can breathe a sigh of relief 🤭
Warnings: mentions of war and death
Taglist: @liebgotts-lovergirl @mrs-murder-daddy @latibvles @lieutenant-speirs
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England, 1944
The verdict is in: those who hadn’t already thought Sobel to be an inept leader lose faith the second that he gets Winters transferred into Battalion Mess. Hopes had started to sway after Luz’s little prank with his Major Horton impression, but the court martial against their favorite officer sends them all over the edge – the kind of edge that they can’t come back from: a mutiny among the NCOs.
A mutiny they get extremely lucky with. Sobel gets shipped off to a jump school, Winters returns, and Lieutenant Meehan of Baker Company gets put in charge of Easy. Most importantly, Zenie doesn’t have to watch any of her friends get taken out back and shot for their bravery and audaciousness. Whatever or Whoever they all believe in must be working overtime.
Lieutenant Meehan is a good leader. Very fair. Shifty tells her that he thinks their company goes back to normal under his leadership. Zenie is inclined to agree.
As normal as they can get, anyway.
The longer they’re in Aldbourne the higher their tensions climb. Like a plane, inching higher, higher, higher into the sky until the green light comes on. Paratroopers drink like it’s the last drop of alcohol they’ll ever taste. Fights break out in the pubs. Girls are picked up. Hearts get broken. It’s all a blur of hurry up and wait while they wonder what’s coming.
The whole of Easy Company seems to breathe a sigh of relief when they get the orders to move out in late May. The night before they leave, a few of them who are quartered in the stable carve their names into its wood as a sort of farewell. After everyone else has fallen asleep, Zenie rolls over in her bunk, flips open her pocket knife, and carves hers up near the roof. Zena B McGlamery. The first time she’s written it in a while. Now no matter what happens to her, someone, one day, might look at this and know that she was here, just like all these men who surround her. She will have left her mark.
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Uppottery is a different kind of blur – of orders and plans and preparations and studying. The mood shifts from restless to excited as the realization hits them that it’s finally happening. Luz gets plenty of practice with his Colonel Sink impression as he takes to quoting the man’s, “Three days and three nights of hard fightin’!” the way that people back home quote Bible verses when they have seemingly nothing else to say.
“Don’t seem like a problem,” Shifty says that night at dinner. He seems sincere enough, in that completely and honestly earnest way that he has of expressing himself. He shrugs. “I reckon a man can make it through just about anythin’ as long as it’s only three days.”
Popeye cracks a grin. “As long as we throw everythin’ we got at ‘em, those Krauts ain’t gonna last even one!”
His proclamation earns cheers and laughs of agreement. Somehow, Zenie finds that she laughs the loudest. If she and everybody else had that much gusto, then maybe the Virginian’s estimation will prove to be correct. All they have to do is make it from the plane to the ground, stir up some trouble to take German attention and resources away from the beaches, and stay alive. Simple. It’s the moment that they’ve spent years preparing for.
Then the word reaches them: tonight.
The airfield becomes a flurry of activity. Once again the tension climbs higher, higher, higher, with no sign of release in sight.
All around, men are streaking their faces with paint to darken them so that they won’t reflect in the moonlight. Some are staring watery-eyed at letters that they tuck close to their hearts before pulling their gear on. Prayers can be heard in between the sounds of laughter and barely controlled chaos. Joe Liebgott is giving people mohawks.
“Hey Tommy,” he calls out as she passes. He gestures towards the hair of the man sitting under his scissors. “You want one?”
For the second time since commencing this whole charade, she’s faced with the choice of cutting her hair. Sure, Liebgott has trimmed her hair for her throughout their time in the army, but this is more than a trim. Suddenly she’s a child again, sitting on the back porch watching Granny trim Matthew's hair and telling her, "But never yours, Zenie. That's where you keep your knowledge. That's where you keep your strength." Ironic, how cutting her hair to run away had taken the most strength and courage out of anything she had ever done in her life. But to cut it again?
She watches the paratroopers around her, all securing their equipment and darting around with adrenaline. She’s one of them, until the end. In for a penny, in for a pound.
Liebgott catches the change she flips him with ease as she takes a place in line. "Do your worst."
And she would let him do it, if it weren’t for Shifty nodding to her as he passes by.
She steps out of line and falls into step with him. “Where ya goin’?”
“Gotta sign my life insurance policy. You signed yours yet?” The question is much deeper than the one that he presents. The real one is written in the curious look he gives her: can a person committing fraud commit even more fraud without getting caught?
Zenie waves it off. “Nah. I figure if I die, they won’t be too keen on giving my family any money. Someone’ll probably send ‘em a letter of condemnation instead. If, you know . . .”
Shifty frowns and she immediately feels bad for joking about it. In her defense, she’s already accepted things as they are . . . For the most part, anyway. That little crease appears between Shifty’s eyebrows in a way that tells her that he’s puzzling through this.
“But your family should get the money somehow.”
Making sure Mama gets the money would be nice. But her father would probably get ahold of it somehow. Magician that he is, he would have no trouble making it disappear to God knows where. He would probably blow through it before Mama could even think about getting Zenie some sort of marker up in the Bird Town cemetery by Granny. If she doesn’t hate Zenie for what she’s done, anyway.  
My family doesn’t know I’m in the Army, she had explained to Shifty once in a half-truth. She hadn’t been able to tell him why at the time, but the fib must make sense to him now.
“Zena,” he says her name – her real name – quietly so that no one around them will hear it. Her heart beats so uncontrollably at the sound of it that she’s sure it’ll bring everyone’s attention to them, but no one seems to notice. “If somethin’ happens to you –“
McClung brushes past them, cutting him off. “Hurry up, slow pokes! We’re gonna be late to the feast!”
For this night only, they’re treated like kings. Steaks, potatoes, milk. Even ice cream for dessert! They all make the most of it, vaguely aware that this might be their last meal, although everyone has the decency not to point this out.
Toye snickers as he digs his spoon into his ice cream. “As long as they don’t make us run Currahee after this.”
Running Currahee. Sobel. The spaghetti. It all seems like so long ago. All that time to prepare her for being here, today, for this jump.
There is no running Currahee after their last supper. Instead the tension that’s been steadily building all day deflates like a popped balloon when it’s announced that the jump is cancelled.
Despite the cocktail of excitement, resignation, and adrenaline pumping through her veins, Zenie breathes a sigh of relief as she sheds her gear and heads off to watch a movie with the others. So much for tonight being the night of nights.
She’s just about to step into the tent with the movie screen when someone shouts for her.
“Tommy!” Sergeant Lipton’s light hair weaves through the crowd as he pushes his way toward her. He’s a kind man, and always looks at each in their company with solemn eyes that seem to take in everything. Absolutely inscrutable himself, though. Now that he’s trying to catch up with her, Zenie wishes more than ever that she could figure out what’s going on in his head.
She offers him a salute that he waves off.
Okay, so she’s not in trouble then.
“Been looking everywhere for you.” He brandishes an envelope and holds it out to her. “Got stuck in between some of my mail. And we all need some words of encouragement from home before we go.”
Bobby’s usually neat slant adorns the outside of the envelope in letters that are darker and spaced closer together than usual. The envelope feels thicker than the other ones that he’s sent her in the past. It’s rushed, just restraining itself from frantic, the way that he used to write on his homework in between serving tables at the diner.
She nods her thanks, expecting the end of it.
“Tommy?”
“Yes?”
Lipton eyes the letter in her hand. “You didn’t fill out the life insurance policy.”
There’s no question mark at the end of his words – it’s a statement of fact. How does he know? Then again, how does he know any of the things he always seems to have knowledge of?
“No, Sir.”
“There’s no one back home that you want that money to go to?”
She wants the money to go to her mother. But there’s no way of sending it to her without giving herself away. After all, Tommy Driver’s father’s name appears on every form she’s filled out up until now. Asking a Lily McGlamery to receive money in the event of her death might raise some eyebrows.
“There’s no one that I can send the money to.” Before he can gain the upper hand by asking something she might not be able to answer, she tries to explain it away with a conclusion she’s reached on sleepless nights of waiting. “If I die, it won’t be an inconvenience to anyone. They won’t need money to fill my space.”
A frown tugs at Lipton’s mouth. His eyes dart back to the letter in her hands. “I’m not entirely sure that’s true. I think that someone would miss you.” When she doesn’t respond, he turns to go. “Maybe just reconsider it, Driver. After all, the money doesn’t have to go to a direct family member.”  
He leaves her by herself to consider it. A direct family member. She could leave it to Bobby, maybe. He could make sure that the money goes to her mother.
Quiet – the first quiet that she’s experienced since coming to Uppottery – settles over her little solitude as the movie inside the tent starts up. She stands, alone, outside of it, a slight breeze whipping at her hair as she watches Lipton retreat. Silence has never been her friend. It’s always allowed her too much time to get inside her head. Especially back home, in her room – a reminder of siblings that have gone, family that have passed, and friends that did not exist.
Before it can consume her, she tears open Bobby’s letter. She’s watched everyone else get letters from loved ones. Watched as the men soaked up their words and carried them like a badge that will fortify them through the big jump. Hell, Tab even got sent a gun by the cops in his town as a gift. Part of her, she can admit now, was jealous in knowing that she wouldn’t have that.
Well, now she does. Good old Bobby.
Multiple pages slide out of the envelope. But it doesn’t seem like Bobby has all that much to say. Because the top page is a short note written in his rushed, anxious handwriting:
Dear Tommy, it begins. Please don’t be mad. I swear I didn’t tell anyone.
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reagans-malewife · 10 months
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#1 BOSS (+ MORE)
Relationships: Brett x Reagan A/N: Written for day 5 of @breaganweekbabeee Prompt: Puppets + homemade gifts Word count: 664 Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 5 | Day 6 | Day 7 Summary: Reagan's favourite gift.
Also on Ao3!
Reagan checked her phone: “10:18, No new notifications.” It was the team's first official mission without her, and Brett's second time being the head of the team alone. She had faith in him, but was still worried out of her mind; Brett knew how much she had going on, she'd dumped it all on his shoulders just last night, so if something bad happened, would he actually let her know?
That thought scared her, sure, but it was nice to have the day's work completed and not have to worry about a thing. She was already ahead in her work on the machine for the robes, so much so that she could afford to take a night off. She glanced over to the box that sat on the shelf, just a few steps away from her barren desk. It held everything she’d felt was necessary to move over to her new office, which was mostly an assortment of notebooks, files, and writing utensils. The files all got stored in the appropriate cabinet, notebooks on the proper shelf, but she paused when she got to her mug full of pens and pencils. She smiled as she looked at it, remembering the three times Brett had given it to her.
The first time had been just after his first week in the company. It was basic, a white mug that read "#1 BOSS" the front (and "Hand painted by Brett" on the bottom), but Reagan appreciated the gesture. Brett would probably be the only one to think that, anyway. She’d thanked him at the time, then kindly brushed him off so she could get back to her work.
A few weeks later, Brett had sheepishly asked for the mug back. She didn’t know why he’d want that, but she didn’t question it. She simply dumped the pens out on her desk, then gave it to him.
It hadn’t been any more than a few days when Brett came knocking on Reagan’s office door with one hand behind his back, and she happily let him in. She didn’t have to wonder what he was holding for long, because after saying their good mornings, Brett revealed the mug again. It was the same one, but when she looked at it closer, she noticed the small addition of “+ BFF” next to “BOSS”. That time, she smiled, thanked him, and was quite receptive when he pulled her into a hug. He lingered around to chat with her before he realized he had to return to his responsibilities. That was the only time she’d heard Brett complain about something before, when he’d had to leave her to return to his work.
A few months passed until she really thought about the mug again. The night before, she’d been smiling wider than she had since god knows when, happily nodding when Brett had asked her out. Now, she was in the war room, unhappiness apparent, as she interrogated her team on where the mug had gone. There were no signs of it, just pens collected where it had once been.
The next day, though, the mug was on her desk again, right where it used to be, even with all of the pencils too. Now it read, “#1 BOSS + BFF + GIRLFRIEND”. Reagan laughed when she read it, and sent Brett a text: thee heart emojis.
That was just over a year ago now.
Seeing it always made her happy, but today, she nearly cried.
Brett had helped her to rearrange her office supplies, getting it all ready for when she’d unpack it later. When she pulled it out of the box, she saw one more addition to it. Unlike the others, it was written in dry erase, and took up most of the empty space on the mug, "+ WIFE?"
She gently wiped her finger over the question mark, then smiled as she set it down. She didn't know what she'd say when he got back, but she knew she couldn't wait.
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ircnbeauty · 4 months
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𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐞, 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐤𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐲𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥. the fact she would be far more busier than she already is, the added responsibilities of caring for the residents when she has herself to care for, the possibilities of getting herself in the weird shenanigans the yellow hall residents would be up to, the huge amount of workload and paperwork that needed to be dealt — and that is even when she still hadn't included of her own projects and assignments she needed to focused on as well. and the worst of it all, to see nahm inho again ; the very boy who broke her heart, ripped it apart into pieces with the inevitable conclusion she would have to be working with him.
and yet, she still accepted the offer.
perhaps it was her own goodwill, her constant need to help others that compelled her to accepted it in the first. her mother always did told nayeon that her heart had to be made of gold, that sometimes she was far too kind for her own good, always too considerate of others even when she shouldn't be. nayeon never did minded about it too much though, she always loved being helpful to others — it made her feel needed among them, to feel wanted in a way ( and maybe, just maybe, it was her own attempts of trying to heal her childhood scars from the constant loneliness she had to endured for simply being an anomaly ) so being the secretary would be fine for her, she could simply help others as much as she could. and frankly, all she needed to do for her own sake was to simply avoid being in the same room with inho alone.
and she did, for a while. evading him had already become a skill she somehow mastered so skillfully after their break-up ; turning away in the other direction if she ever spotted him walking her way, hiding away whenever she thinks she sees him in the mass crowds of people. and whenever the hall leaders had meetings together, she made sure to never sit near him and bolted out of the room once the meeting ends just to run away at any signs of proximity.
it's too bad that her luck might have just run out — especially when she was still trying her best to avoid him. but she'd become careless, especially when she'd put too much faith in her skillful evading skills. as she walked into the office with her gaze anchored to the papers she'd been skimming through, nayeon wasn't exactly being careful as she found herself immediately bumping into a chest when attempting to take another step.
❝ oophm! ❞ was the only thing she uttered at the impact, stumbling into the unfortunate person. her grip on the papers only tightened, while her free hand griped onto the person's shoulders for balance as her cheeks flushed with embarrassment when she finally registered whatever had just occured. ❝ oh my god, i'm so sorry— i wasn't really looking my way when i—❞ the ramblings of her profusive apologies was immediately cut short when she realized on who exactly did she bump into.
( oh my fucking god )
❝ inho... ❞ for the first time in a while, his name was a whisper on her lips as she finally stared into the crimson eyes of the boy she's been trying so desperately to avoid.
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₊ . ࣪ ✧ 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 @iniustus
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mysticraven20 · 2 years
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Destiny - Chapter 16
@adrinetteapril
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[Prompt 21: Trapped]
Two days after his run in with Gabriel, Adrien was back in his fathers office and again not by choice. Though this was his usual day to see the interns in the ‘Gabriel’ building, he hadn’t intended on spending the better half of the morning with his father shouting down his throat and throwing his weight around like a sleep deprived toddler.
“I'm not doing it,” Adrien said stubbornly, currently in the same chair as the last time he went head to head with his father. His arms crossed over his chest as he lazed back, fully intending not to be the first to blink.
“You don’t have a say in the matter, you’re the face of this company, Adrien, so start acting like it.”
“Gabriel!” Emilié attempted to settle into her normal role, the net between two hard hitting tennis players.
“Don’t,” the man’s angry voice threw force at his wife, causing her to step backwards and behind Adrien’s chair, she cowered once again under Gabriel Agreste’s presence.
Adrien stood, moving forward to place his hands on Gabriel’s desk, glaring down at his father in disgust. The older man never batted an eyelid, knowing full well Adrien couldn’t do anything. He always had one up … one little nugget of information that would win him the hand.
“I’m not working with Lila. Do you not understand what she does during the shoots? It’s borderline illegal.”
“Don’t be so dramatic Adrien, Lila is one of our most professional models in the industry, we’re lucky to have her. She’s never done anything unseemly and she’s atheistically pleasing on the eye.”
“There is so much wrong with what you just said father.”
“If you want to stay in university then you do this shoot. Any funny business and I will stop your funds.”
Adrien felt the fight leave him, just another threat from Gabriel, a threat he would be good on, just as he had done so many times before.
“You know this is blackmail right?”
Gabriel laughed, a laugh that Dick Dastardly would be proud of. It was evil, calculated, manipulative … It was Gabriel Agreste down to a tee.
“Adrien, leave it.” His mother once again stepped into her role as peacemaker. A role she should never have to play.
Tearing his eyes away from Gabriel, he looked back into his mothers eyes, his resistance caving once again.
“Fine,” Adrien said, “but I’m only doing it for her.”
“Are you sure you’re not doing it for the intern. She’s very good, you know, she could have a great chance of succeeding in this industry, as long as she’s friends with the right people. Are you one of those people Adrien?”
God he hated how Gabriel said his name, and the implications of what he’d just said were obvious. Either Adrien is with Gabriel or against, and turning against would only cause trouble for Marinette in the long run.
“Yes, father.”
“Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that.” Gabriel cupped his ear in mockery of his son.
“Yes, father!” Adrien raised his voice a little louder than usual, his father baskin in getting one up on his own son. The sneer and smile of triumph on the older man’s face had Adrien clenching his teeth to stay quiet.
“Good, now, your photoshoot with Lila will be for the new ‘Love’ line. Luckily for you, she has already signed confirming she’s okay to kiss you, be glad she didn’t run because of this little thing going on with Ms. Dupain-Cheng.”
“Why can’t Félix do it?”
“You know he’s not in the position to put himself under pressure, and I won’t allow him to wear himself out unnecessarily when I have you.”
“Whatever.” Adrien slumped down in the chair. “I won’t be doing any kissing though, not now I’m dating Marinette. I’m not you, father, I’m faithful..”
Adrien wasn’t sure what happened first; the loud scream from his mother, his body hitting the floor, or Gabriel’s hand connecting with his face.
“Seems like I won’t be ‘model ready’ for the shoot after all.” Adrien wiped the back of his hand against his lip, wincing at the pain his father had just inflicted and taking note of the blood smeared across the back of his hand.
“Get out!” Gabriel’s voice was filled with aggression and all Adrien could do was laugh. Just sit and laugh.
“Whatever would the press say,” Adrien teased, “knowing you beat your son. They’ll think that’s why you’ve been so reclusive over the years.” He watched Gabriel’s aggression slowly dimmer down. “Tell me, dad, do you strike out at Félix too?”
Gabriel took a step around his desk, ready to launch himself at Adrien once more, the young adult remaining seated on the ground. The fury in his father’s face sent fear down his spine. He’d gotten Gabriel angry numerous times, but this … this was nothing Adrien had ever seen before. He held his own, not backing down from his fathers volatile behaviour.
A purple butterfly suddenly materialised in the office, heading straight for Gabriel and being consumed by the designer's tie clip.
Purple bubbles surrounded his frame, engulfing the once fashionable male into one of questionable fashion taste. His white suit jacket and grey slacks transformed into a silver, purple and black ensemble even the Avengers wouldn’t wear.
Where his glasses once sat, a visor had taken over, his head being encompassed by a full metallic helmet.
Scrambling to stand up, Adrien moved away from his father, grabbing his mother and leading her out of the office, trying to get her out of the building and away to safety.
Sending her to the stairwell, he gave her a quick push encouraging her to run.
“What about you?” She asked, watching Adrien retreat back into the main building.
“I’m not going anywhere without Marinette.”
Engulfing her son in a hug, she pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. “Be careful.”
With a nod, Adrien turned on his heel heading to the office he knew Marinette was working in.
“Kid, it’s an akuma. You need to transform.” Plagg flew from Adrien’s shirt pocket, following his chosen as he moved down the hall like a mad man.
“I’m not doing anything until I find Marinette.” Adrien said, finally hitting a wall of people and guiding them out the building.
Bouncing around, he looked over the heads of those around him, trying his hardest to find Marinette. Not paying attention to where he was going, Adrien found himself slamming into another body, one with bright pink hair he recognised.
“Avery?” He questioned, “thank god! Where’s Marinette?”
“She was with me I swear, I had her hand in mine,” suddenly the strong, confident woman Adrien had come to know evaporated and instead left a frantic and worried woman. “She let go, Adrien. I’m so sorry. She let go.” Avery cried, grabbing a hold of Adrien’s shirt and pulling him closer burying her head in his chest.
“I’ll find her, just get out of here now.” Prying her hands from his chest, he moved her away and towards the exit, following the rest of the crowd.
The lights over head flickered, before turning off. The emergency lighting now being the only guidance away from whatever this thing is. The sound of screaming travelled the hallways followed by the sound of smashing. Wherever had got Gabriel Agreste was coming this way, and in full force.
“Go now!” Adrien commanded, pushing Avery to the emergency stairwell and continuing to look for Marinette.
The rooms grew more and more silent as he moved deeper into the building, most members of staff already being able to get away. The lights continued to flicker on and off, Adrien’s heart beating intensely with fear for himself and Marinette.
“Adrien, listen,” Plagg had released himself once more from Adrien's shirt, flying in front of the determined adult's face. “You need to transform, Ladybug needs her Chat Noir.”
“And I need to make sure Marinette is safe. I’m not doing anything until I know.” Adrien was determined, more than he ever had been before. He was not going anyway without Marinette by his side.
A deafening explosion was heard behind him before the emergency lights cut out completely. He was trapped and on his own, ceiling tiles and bricks falling around him.
“It’s time kid, you can use your cataclysm to break through the wall and escape. Ladybug will be able to fix the damage with her lucky charm.”
Looking down at the ring on his finger Adrien took a deep breath. He was about to become a superhero, he was about to see what the big deal was about his soulmate, his partner.
“Okay, wish me luck.” Adrien sighed, hand clenching and ready to call his transformation.
“You don’t need it kid. You were made for this.”
A quick smile thanked the kwami and Adrien extended his arm out. “Plagg, claws out.”
A green blaze covered his body, as his formal stuffy work suit was engulfed in some sort of magical fabric, one that made him feel overwhelmed by power and strength.
He looked down at his outfit before running his fingers through his hair to find two cat ears hidden in between his locks. His hands moved lower, reaching a golden bell around his neck, the perfect accessory for a domesticated cat.
Finally, he reached for the baton behind his lower back when he noticed a movement in his peripheral vision. He turned sharply coming face to face with a beautiful girl and a red floating creature, a smile stretched the width of his face.
Oh this was too good!
“Adrien, hi, this is my hamster, Tikki.”
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